Sleepless Demeanours
by Little Miss Illusional
Summary: (Completed) A series of short fics and drabbles, taking a closer look into the lives of the descendants and other characters. Winner of Best Drabble Series in the Class of the Titans Fanfiction Awards 2012.
1. Brownstone

A/N: Welcome to my new drabbles series! Just short, quick ideas and prompts that found themselves into my head during some sleepless nights that come hand in hand with the irritation of readjusting into a time zone.

EDIT: This drabble has replaced the previous chapter. I think it serves better as a first in a series. Eh. You decide.

* * *

Brownstone

The Brownstone existed as little more than a building in a plethora of buildings. New Olympia was not a city of landmarks, and if it was, the Brownstone wouldn't be one of them. The people living in it weren't any different.

Neighbours knew there was something strange about the seven teenagers and the woman who lived under that roof. The rumour mill churned out a new story each week, and gossip weaved through doorsteps in whispers. They were vagabonds, they were orphans, drug dealers, gang members, spies… the list never ended. But gossip didn't make them famous; it didn't make them landmarks.

And what they actually were, as seven teenagers, seemed petty compared to their neighbours. Mr Thompson down the street had battled cancer, and Beatrice Smith two streets over was a poet in the making. Not that anyone else knew. Certainly not the mystery teens in the diminutive Brownstone, too caught up in their own secrets and fate to notice. Certainly not the rest of the neighbourhood. Certainly not the rest of New Olympia.

There were thousands of households throughout the city and there was something happening in all of them. There was some kind of story in each, but self-contained. No one else knew. No one else cared.


	2. Forgotten

Forgotten

There was no comfort in counselling.

"Why don't you start with why you're having these nightmares, Medellia?"

The older woman – a sixty-something lady with thin white eyebrows and grey-flecked wispy brown hair – pursed her lips whilst studying her teenage patient. This was the girl's third session this month, and according to the file clipped to the folder on her lap, the patient had already been to two other clinics before her's.

Off the record, she'd been told that Medellia was becoming a hopeless case. A hard case. Rumours were spreading around her, whilst she kept a tighter lip than a lawyer.

They said she'd driven three psychiatrists mad. But that was just rubbish.

Looking at the girl now, the older woman could see that Medellia wasn't the average depressed teenager suffering from nightmares. Nine times out of ten the most her patients needed was a good run of anti-depressants and a healthy dose of TLC.

But there was something different in the girl's grey-blue eyes that glared at her now. Something deep. Dark. Something she couldn't entirely put her finger on.

"You wouldn't believe me... even if I did tell you."

She hissed the words, a subtle threat amongst them. Hostility. Her file breathed it.

The psychiatrist tried a new approach. "Perhaps you could tell me what happens in your nightmares, then? No harm in tell me."

This caused an eye roll. "_Nightmares_. Sure." She made an exaggerated sigh. "I dream that I am Medea – the legendary sorceress of Greek mythology. I dream that I am powerful, so powerful that I am able to destroy the descendant of Medea's mortal enemy... _Jay_." Mockingly, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, pretending to faint.

The psychiatrist couldn't keep the excitement off her face. Finally, a breakthrough! This was the confession that she'd been praying for since Medellia's parents had transferred their precious daughter to her clinic a week ago.

But there was time to celebrate later. She cleared her throat. "And how- "

"-How does that make me feel?" Medellia's eyes glittered dangerously. "Wonderful. Powerful. Unstoppable."

The older woman nodded furiously, scribbling notes onto her folder. Incredible. Medellia – the hotshot hockey player whom no therapist could help – was opening up to _her_.

Medellia chuckled; a sinister, hair raising sound. "Now that you've declared me insane, can I go? I've got a game on tonight."

She nodded lowly. "But I would like to organise a meeting with your parents. I think we'll be arranging a few courses of medication." _Perhaps a few rounds of therapy wouldn't go astray. I know a wonderful group in Toronto that caters for the hallucinating cases..._

"I won't be needing those."

There was something in the patient's cold address that made her glance upwards from her notes, just for a second. Instantly, she screamed – but the sound never left her lips.

Medellia's eyes had changed. Blue-grey was now a glowing, pulsating green. When she spoke, the voice was harsh, metallic and... hypnotic?

"_You will forget this meeting_!" The girl cried, eyes flashing. "_You will forget_!"

"_I will forget_." The psychiatrist repeated dumbly, not flinching as the folder in her hands burst into green flames.

_Forget. Forget. Forget..._

She crumpled to the floor, and would wake with no recollection of her meeting with Medellia – or the rest of the week for that matter – save the glowing green eyes that would haunt her sleep.

Stepping over the unconscious body, Medellia sighed as her eyes returned to normal, blinking a few times as she readjusted back to her fully human state. It used to hurt, moving between forms. Now it was just a factor in her life. _Keep the secret_. The Descendants – the filthy vermin that Cronus worked so nobly to destroy – had cursed her to keep the secret. Now she was forced to deal with _psychiatrists_. Her – the descendant of the mighty Medea!

The older woman groaned slightly – she'd be waking up soon. Which meant that it was time for Medellia to go.

She strode to the exit, pausing at the door for a few moments to glance at her victim on the floor.

_If only I could do that to myself_, she thought. _Forget._

_Forget._

_o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
_

_I've always wondered what happened to Medellia, so this is my take on it. She did mention that she would go for some counselling at the end of _Field of Nightmares _after all!_


	3. Fix You

Fix You

"Odie! My computer's dead!"

"Odie, the microwave's not working!"

"The phone's doing that thing again, Odie!"

"The gaming system is down! Can someone get Odie?"

"For the love of Zeus, ODIE MY HAIRDRYER ISN'T WORKING!"

And then; "ODIE, THE POWER'S OFF!"

Down in the basement, a scrawny teen with green tinted glasses chuckled, holding the disconnected electricity plug to the Brownstone.

Up above, his friends screamed at each other, the power 'failure' giving each other a means to relieve some of the tension they'd all been feeling.

He let them yell for a few more minutes, and then pushed the plug back into place before sliding back upstairs.

A low whirring sound echoed through the Brownstone as he walked calming up the stairs. A light flicked at the top of the staircase.

"NEVERMIND, ODIE!"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_I've always imagined Odie dashing around fixing everything; it seemed only fitting that he'd have a little fun every now and then._


	4. Weapons

Weapons

"How come I never get a weapon?"

Neil's bottom lip wobbled slightly as he gave his best puppy-dog eyes to Jay, trying to convey two year's worth of want for such an item.

Jay, ignoring Archie's sniggering from the other side of the kitchen, turned from his breakfast to give Neil a look. "Neil, it's just... well..."

"Well what?" The blonde gave him a pouty glare. "It's unfair. Everyone else has a weapon. Atlanta has her crossbow, Archie's got his whip, you've got your swordy thing and Theresa has her nun-chucks."

"And what about Herry and I, Neil?" Odie pointed out. "We don't have weapons either."

Neil shrugged. "You've got the shock thing on the PMR. And Herry's got his... um... fists!" He grinned proudly at his last point.

Jay paused thoughtfully. "I guess you _could_ have a weapon."

Herry, who'd been watching the conversation from the back of the kitchen with much amusement, chuckled. "Maybe if you gave him one he'd help more in battles."

"Lay off him, Herry." Archie mockingly scolded. "Besides, Neil's already got weapons. His _stunning good looks._ And _killer smile_."

This caused a round of laughter at the old joke.

Atlanta, who'd claimed one of the stools near the kitchen bench, sat up quickly, a grin spread across her face. "I know just the thing!" She exclaimed, and dashed up to her room. Returning moments later with a large box, she set it in Neil's hands before returning to her spot.

Neil opened the box, pulling out what looked like a stun-baton had been squashed into a circular disc. "Uh, thanks Atlanta." He pursed his lip. "Um, what exactly _is _it?"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "It's a Stunner. Heph gave it to me a while back. You just press _that_ button," she pointed to a purple button on the flat side of the disc, "and it emits a charge that renders everyone in a ten meter vicinity completely unable to move."

By now, the whole team had gathered around Neil, examining the device shrewdly. Most hadn't come to terms that _Neil _was being trusted with a weapon.

"So." Neil glanced at Atlanta. "I think I've got it. The Frisbee thingy stuns people nearby when I press the blue button."

"Purple, Neil."

"Oh." He blinked. "Purple, right. Sorry." He paused, looking at the purple button, outstretching his finger to it. "You mean, this purple button?"

Atlanta nodded, ignoring the buzzing sense in her head that something was about to go wrong. "That button. Wait, Neil – DON'T PRESS THE PURPLE BUTTON!"

A shock emitted through the room, and seven teens dropped to the floor, all the muscles in their bodies disrupted by the Stunner.

Jay managed to choke out a groan. "That," he moaned, "is the last time we give Neil a weapon."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_How come Neil never gets a weapon? That's why!_


	5. Fragments

Fragments

Seven. The powerful number.

And yet one was not. One was alone. One was just another piece. A part. One was just another number that made seven.

They were special. The seven of them. But not by themselves. Only the group. Always the group.

Seven. The deadly number.

They were destined to destroy the biggest threat of all time to the world. _They_. Not an individual. But seven. Seven descendants. No more, no less.

Seven fragments to make a whole.


	6. 2 am

Two Am

"Can't sleep?"

"Sleep is for losers."

"Then I guess you'd better start being a loser, loser."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more as he continued to rummage through the cupboard.

"I'm being serious, Arch. Odie said he saw you here last night too. What's happening? Is it something to do with-"

He turned suddenly, gripping the sides of her arms with such force she knew he'd leave bruises. But she didn't mind. Bruises weren't anything to the scars and broken bones and messed-up minds they'd all attained.

"Don't." He hissed; intensity in his grey eyes that she'd never seen before. "_Don't say her name_."

He returned to the cupboard, searching through the strewn items for a little bottle he knew either Jay or Herry had stashed in there. He knew he'd get the fifth degree. He knew it would only get him a few precious hours of peace, and then a cold, defeating low. And he knew that, in the morning, when _she _found out, he'd feel the uncontrollable emptiness again.

He was beyond the point of caring.

"Arch... I know what you're looking for. And I don't think making friends with sleeping pills is going to help."

"Like you'd know."

She gasped, and he felt a stab of regret. He hadn't meant to bring up the past with her, but it slipped out.

When she spoke, she was calmer than he'd expected. "Arch. That was a long time ago. And I've learnt from that. And you can trust me when I say that turning to pills or whatever won't help. Please Arch, just... go back to bed. Go to sleep."

"I can't sleep, Theresa," he whispered. "I can't."

He felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. He let her steer him away from the cupboard, out of the kitchen. Back up the stairs. She never let go of him; her touch soothing his inner torment.

She stopped in front of his door, murmuring a few words. The door creaked open.

"Don't tell Jay I did that," she murmured.

She embraced him quickly, her long hair tickling his face. It wasn't as coarse as _her's, _nor did it smell of pine needles and rain. And she wasn't as tough and seemingly compact and solid.

She shrugged herself out of the hug, motioning for him to go inside. "You should get some sleep, Arch." As she spoke, he felt his eyelids getting heavy and his mind clouding. Her work, no doubt. Jay would have a fit if he knew she still had the power she possessed. He – like the rest of the team – were under the impression she'd lost all of it, the day she took on Cronus.

"Goodnight, Theresa."

"Night, Arch."

He turned in, ready to fall onto his bed for the first descent length of sleep he'd had in a long time. Theresa's subtle powers were swiftly taking hold, but as he closed the door, he heard her whisper something from the corridor.

He collapsed onto the mattress, already asleep. He welcomed it. And he dreamed of her words.

"_Atlanta still loves you, Archie. You know she still does."_

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Set very close after Phantom Rising. Sort of in my universe, where the constant fighting and battles starts to get to the gang. _


	7. Theme Song

Theme Song

"We should have a theme song!"

Neil's face lit up like fireworks as he scanned his Ipod, already running through several possibilities. "I mean, when they make a TV show of our lives-"

Archie snorted. "As if that's ever going to happen."

"-And I'm played by Alex Pettyfer and Leonardo di Caprio for when they flash forward into the future, then they'll need a descent sound to portray us as we walk into battle. And then to play as a reprieve in the end credits."

Theresa, Herry and Archie, who were the only ones left in the house with Neil after the others had been called in by their mentors for extra-curriculum training sessions, all burst into laughed simultaneously.

Neil pouted. "What? I'm being serious. A theme song defines the show. 'Friends' wouldn't be 'Friends' without _I'll Be There For You_. And everyone knows _The Addams Family_."

Theresa, still giggling, chimed in. "And that song from 'The Big Bang Theory. The one with the whole theory of the universe."

Neil nodded frantically. "See? That song explains the show in song form. It sets the mood. It makes way for the characters. It presents the universe that the show is set it. It is the basis of everything!"

Herry chuckled. "Sure, Neil. Let's get a theme song then. We'll have someone blasting it from a boom box whenever we see Cronus. And then we'll all walk in slow motion."

"There's no need to make a mockery of this, Herry."

"I'm being serious, Neil. But I reckon we all need our own theme songs. So that each time we're on our deathbeds, they can play it on those sneak peak things at the end of each episode."

This caused another round of laughter.

Neil's grin grew wider. "Exactly! Good thinking Herry! Now we just need a theme song for everyone, an opening titles song, a battle theme, a love theme, a Brownstone theme, a New Olympia theme – oh and the closing credits theme."

Archie rolled his eyes. "Don't you think that's a little over the top, Neil?"

"No way. Harry Potter's got a theme for Quidditch, and one for whenever they're in the Great Hall. Why can't we have one for whenever we're in the Brownstone?"

Theresa, who knew Neil wouldn't drop the idea until they'd all contributed enough for him to be satisfied, picked up a laptop that had been left on the coffee table in front of the couch. One of Odie's – excellent. Quickly selecting iTunes, she gestured for the rest of the teens to gather around.

"Right," she exclaimed. "I'll scroll through this once. Everyone choose a theme song. Herry, you choose the battle theme and the love theme. Archie, you do the Brownstone theme and the New Olympia theme. Neil, you're on opening and closing credits. I'll look for ones for Jay and the rest."

After twenty or so minutes of scrolling through Odie's extensive music library, the four teens had chosen their songs. Neil, taking charge, found a pen and paper from the kitchen. "Okay everyone," he called. "Theme songs! Herry?"

"Well... uh..."

"Herry?"

The brawny teen stammered. "I couldn't... I couldn't really find a song that suited me. I mean, there's no songs that really go into farm kids that are descended from Heracles and get attacked by giants and are selected to save the world."

Neil glared at him. "Fine. Archie?"

The purple haired teen gulped. "I've got a similar problem-"

"Me too." Theresa cut in. "There's not a whole lot of songs that really suit us, Neil. I'm sorry."

"No, no, you're right." Neil sighed, chucking the paper onto the table and sinking onto the couch beside the young clairvoyant. "I couldn't find a song either. I mean, come on! What sort of song is supposed to describe me? They'd never be able to describe _this_," he gestured to himself, "in mere _words_."

Theresa placed an arm around Neil sympathetically. "If it's any consolation, I thought _The Fame_ kind of did it for you."

Neil sniffed. "Thank you, but maybe we're not meant to have theme songs."

There was silence for a moment, the four young heroes imaging wistfully the tunes that could have played in a movie about them whilst ridiculously good-looking actors pranced around over-dramatically, until;

"Theresa, I am not '_doin' it for the fame'_! I'm also here for the endless supply of moisturizer!"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_I had fun with this one._

_But, similar to the gang, I could not find songs that matched them. Well... I had a few ideas, but most of them are little, unknown songs that only really matched my view on the show. And I'm sure that everyone has their own connotations._

_But if you have any ideas/songs, let me know in a review. Who knows, maybe I'll do a sequel chapter…_


	8. Dinner

_Author's note: this one is set directly after _Bows and Eros_. After watching it, I couldn't help but want to write a Herry/Theresa. Adorable! Plus it would be super fun watching/writing Jay's jealously._

Dinner

"Herry, you said 'dinner', I thought you meant a proper date. Not a hamburger at some tacky fast food place."

The brawny teen, already polishing off his third burger, shrugged nonchalantly. "What? You're the one that agreed to go to dinner with me anyway."

She recoiled swiftly, avoiding the spray of food from his overstuffed mouth. Crinkling her nose, she returned to her own dinner – salad. Psychic food, according to Persephone.

_I don't think cucumbers hold any magical powers_, she thought.

The waiter, a tall ginger haired boy in their grade at school – his name evading Theresa – appeared at their table. "Can I get you anything else?" He asked, addressing Theresa. He offered her a subtle wink.

Herry waved his arm. "Over here, pal. Can I get another burger – more cheese this time – and one for the lady too?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Coming right up."

As soon as he was gone, Theresa glared daggers at him. "_The lady_? Excuse me?"

"What? We're on a date. Would you rather I call you sweetheart?"

She flinched. "Do you have to say that so loud?"

Herry raised a thick, brown eyebrow. "Is being on a date with me so bad?"

"When you order me a burger, _yes_."

He scratched his head. What was so wrong with burgers?

"I'm _vegetarian_, Herry. That means I don't eat meat. Which means I don't eat _ham_burgers."

"Oh." He frowned. "Wait – you don't eat meat?"

"Never have, never will."

So Theresa didn't eat meat. Herry's heart dropped a little. In his mind, his perfect girl wrestled mountain lions, could fix cars like a mechanic and appreciated a well-cooked steak like any guy he knew. Theresa could handle herself easily against giants – mountain lions would be a cinch. Cars, not so much – though her cute convertible hardly had problems, he'd always been the one to fix it, not her. And the fact that she didn't eat meat kind of defeated the purpose of steak.

But before he could voice this, the waiter arrived with their burgers. He dropped Herry's in front of him, whilst making a huge show of placing the other carefully between Theresa's knife and fork. He beamed at her, ignoring Herry's scowl.

"Two hamburgers," he announced, not taking his eyes off the pretty redhead. "One with meat, one without." He leaned closer to Theresa. "I heard at school that you were vegetarian. I made sure this one has a veggie patty. I wouldn't want you to go hungry."

She gave him a half smile – Herry had seen that one plenty of times before. Every time she'd let some poor sucker of a suitor down. A combination of embarrassment and pride and just a hint of pity.

"Thanks," she said crisply, turning her attention back to Herry. But the poor kid hadn't given up. Herry snorted into his fourth burger as he scribbled onto his notepad and tore off the sheet. Oh god. He was actually going to give his number to Theresa. This was priceless. Too bad he didn't have a camera – Odie would have loved to see this.

"This," the ginger-haired boy said, thrusting the paper into her hands. "Is my number. Call me?"

To Herry's utter surprise, Theresa smiled again – this time a full, toothy smile. "Thanks... Josh, right?"

"Jake."

She nodded. "Jake. Sorry. You go to New Olympia High, right?"

"Yes! I don't think you've noticed, but I'm in your History and English-"

Herry cleared his throat. This was still a date. He wasn't going to let the kid steal the pretty girl away just because he'd brought her some tacky meat substitute.

"That's great, Jake." He smiled, a little menacing. Theresa rolled her eyes at him. "Perhaps you could bring the bill? And then I'd like to walk my _date_ home."

Jake, the poor kid, paled at the word 'date', and scurried away quickly. _Another heart broken_, thought Herry. _I must be getting used to breaking more than just bones_.

"Getting jealous, Herry?" The redhead asked irritably.

"Nope. Just didn't want you to get his hopes up too high."

"His hopes?" Her green eyes flashed angrily. "Who said I was playing him?"

"Theresa, you would never go for someone like _him_."

"You just can't accept that other guys are interested in me!"

"Please. That kid was only into you because-"

"Because why, Herry?" Her voice dropped, her eyes downcast. "Because I'm Theresa, the daughter of the rich business man who. Because I'm pretty. Because I've got money."

He took her hand sympathetically. He wanted to say 'hey, that's not true. They're into you because you're you.'

Instead, he said; "Nah. Most of them don't even know you have money."

She kicked his shin from under the table, and his leg exploded in pain. "Shi- OUCH! What was that for?"

"For being an injudicious pig."

Herry, who had never heard of such a word, presumed she was insulting him and nursed his sore leg with much bitterness. Some great date.

Jake returned to their table, quickly dropping the bill on the table and hurrying away before he could get another mouthful from Herry.

Theresa reached for her purse and dropped a few notes on the table. "Here's my half. _You _can pay for the burgers."

With a scowl, he pushed the notes back to her. "Hey, this is still a date. _I'll _pay."

Before she could argue, he swept the bill from the table and rushed to the counter, shoving it and a pile of notes into an unsuspecting Jake. "Thanks for dinner," he told the frightened waiter. "And next time, don't hit on a girl who doesn't eat meat. It won't end well."

He left Jake flabbergasted, clutching the bill and the money, and towed Theresa out of the burger joint.

They were halfway down the block before Theresa spoke. "Herry," she said, avoiding eye contact. "I really appreciate you asking me out... but, uh... I don't think..."

"It's okay," he finished for her. "You're great Theresa, you really are. You're funny, smart-"

"-Pretty, great fighter-"

"-_Amazing_ fighter!" He smiled sadly. "But not the right girl for me. And I don't think I'm the right person for you either."

She breathed a small sigh of relief. "I'm glad you think so too. I mean, I thought it was really nice that you asked me to dinner... but I just don't see this working out between us."

There was silence for a while, the two walked side by side on the footpath back to the Brownstone.

"So, you're okay about this?" Theresa asked, peering at her companion out of the corner of her eye. Herry shrugged.

"I guess if you don't see this working then there's no point fighting it. You are the psychic after all."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"So how did dinner go?"

Herry knew Jay's interest – not matter how calm and uninterested he kept his voice – was more than a friend checking up on his friend after a date with a pretty girl. He wasn't blind – or as stupid as they thought. And he certainly wasn't going to let Jay off that easily.

"Oh, yeah. It was pretty good." He grinned goofily. "Theresa's pretty hot."

At that, Jay exploded.

"What do you mean? Did you kiss her? Is she a good kisser? Not that I _like _her or anything – but do you like her?"

Herry grinned, lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out on his bed. He was beginning to see the perks of a date with the object of Jay's clearly obvious infatuation.

"Let's just say-" he dropped his voice to a whisper, ignoring the urge to laugh at Jay's frantic manner, "Dinner with Theresa is _very _enlightening."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Herry and Theresa; a match that will never advance past ideas and stories._

_I guess Herry will just have to settle for Odie…_

_This is the last chapter of drabbles that I have written prior to publishing. If there are more, they'll come later. Eventually. And there's no promise that there will be more. Maybe this is all there will be._

_Reviews are much appreciated. As are hugs, kisses and a signed confirmation of the third series._


	9. News

_Who said I hated reviews? Pfft._

_This one's for my first reviewer on this story, the wonderful, kind and charming - no, it's not Neil - **HoneyGoddess57**. Thank you for speaking up and taking the time to review!_

_Anyways, enjoy!_

News

"_And now, in breaking news! A minor earthquake hit southern New Olympia today just after midday after increasing disturbances in the Earth's mantle, right below our beloved city. This quake is the most recent of five minor quakes originating from what our top science correspondent believes is a forming fault line. And now to Kate with the weather."_

Odie chuckled, switching the TV off. "Fault line? Who came up with that?"

"Uh, you did."

The gifted teen shrugged. "Technically, I _suggested _it. It's not my fault if the _New Olympia News_ doesn't check the back story of their 'top science correspondent'."

Jay snorted. "You're the top science correspondent for _New Olympia News_?"

"Jay, please. When you asked me to keep an eye on what the mortals thought about the rise unexplained damage to their 'beloved city', did you honestly expect me to sit at my computer and make up some story about a fault line causing minor earthquakes that only impact on New Olympia?"

"Actually, I did."

Odie rolled his eyes. "You're more of a genius than I am. How did you know that they'd believe the story you made up?"

The older boy ran a hand through this thick, brown hair. "I have my sources."

"You mean, you have Theresa."

"Same thing!"

Odie nodded thoughtfully. "And you needed me to make it sound intelligent and educated!"

"Exactly."

He grinned at the team leader. "Has anyone ever told you that you're brilliant?"

Jay sighed. "You made up the story, not me. Don't give me the credit."

"Technically, Theresa did... but she only saw me do it..." Odie's mind processed the information, ignoring the huge paradoxes. Urgh. Being a genius was _hard_.

Finally, he turned to meet Jay's eye. "Alright... let's just say that I'm the genius. I'm finished trying to work out who deserves the compliments for _that_." He gestured to the TV.

Jay smiled at his teammate. "Get some rest, Odie. Hera wants us at the school early. Ares tracked down a Manticore for us to practise on. We're running out of new monsters to practise again, but this one should be something new."

Odie groaned. A Manticore? That definitely was a new one. At least he wouldn't have to write up a program to simulate a real, physical one... but he could write a game that copied it into a playable _digital_ simulation for him to practise on his laptop overnight! Perfect!

He was a genius. And brilliant. The news – and Jay – said as much.

"Oh, and Odie-" Jay paused at the door. "Theresa said that next time, you should use a story about a car bomb. Or a riot. There's only so much earthquakes they'll believe."

Odie nodded. "Night Jay."

As soon as the door was closed, he flipped open his laptop on his desk. Bypassing the security codes, he downloaded a few videos from the internet – documentaries, games, anything he could find – and started writing up a program.

Barely two minutes into it, his PMR beeped. He flipped it open, holding the device to his ear with one hand, the other still typing. He glanced once at the caller ID, a small smile tracing his lips.

"Theresa, what can I do for you?"

"Forget about riots. There's a storm tomorrow – high winds. Tell that to your _New Olympia News_ pals."

"Nice. Think of that yourself?"

"Well... I _saw_ it myself."

He chuckled again. "Is there anything you don't see, Theresa?"

"Not at all. And stop cheating. Put the laptop down and get some sleep. If you don't get any rest, well, let's just say that the Manticore will go for the one that can't keep his eyes open."

"You never cease to amaze me, you know that?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_This was a pet peeve of mine - the fact that they never really explained how they cover up all their big fights and battles with Cronus and other such monsters._

_Next drabble will be up... now? How's that for quality service? :)_


	10. Party

_Be warned: this is not my usual stuff. Maybe I'm being over-pretentious, but I'm just letting you guys know._

_Anywho, this drabble is the result of an author having a little _too_ much fun with her characters._

_I hereby grin evilly. _

Party

Music blared through the Brownstone, threatening to burst Jay's eardrums as he pushed through the walls of teenagers that crowded the Brownstone.

A girl with heavily applied makeup and uncomfortably tight clothing bumped into him, sloshing her bottle down her top. "Oi!" She slurred. "Watch it."

He stepped around her, hurrying into the packed lounge room, scanning over the heads for a familiar one. All he could see were drunk, partying faces – none of which he knew. Great.

"I am going to KILL Neil!" He exclaimed, making his way through the crowds to the stairs.

He found Herry there, a little too close to a perky blonde girl with more cleavage than dignity. Apologising to the girl quickly, he grabbed his brawny friend's arm and dragged him upstairs.

"Jeez Jay, do you mind? Jess was about to give me her number!"

"Herry, I don't care about some girl you were hitting on. I need to find Neil – and kill him!"

"Good luck with that. Half of New Olympia's in here."

He let go of Herry, watching the bigger teen stumble back downstairs after the blonde girl. That was just _great_. How was he supposed to find Neil is his favourite environment – a crowd he'd gathered to celebrate him.

A light bulb clicking on overhead; Jay grinned as the answer came to him. Neil would always be in the environment he loved best – the centre of attention.

"Think, Jay, think." He murmured, speculating where the biggest crowd would be gathered. The lounge room wasn't that big, the kitchen was like a broom cupboard, the bedroom hall wasn't big either – and he didn't even want to check who was in the bedrooms – and the bathrooms were tiny. That left...

... the rooftop!

He dashed up the stairs, pushing through the crowds. Gradually, the facing peering at him with mild interest started to get familiar – kids from school, classmates, people he'd seen in the library.

He spied Archie and Atlanta sitting in the corner before the stairs to the rooftop terrace. Not bothering to avert his eyes – the two had been caught sucking face more than once in the corners of the Brownstone – he ran over, pulling them apart quickly.

"Guys, have you see Neil?"

Archie's eyes were glassy; Atlanta wasn't much better. "Mhhm... urgh... J-_aaay_..." Archie protested as he dragged the purple haired teen to his feet.

"Archie," he pronounced slowly. "Have. You. Seen. Neil?"

"Yeah," Archie grinned lopsidedly, swaying on his feet. "Neil's quite a good guy. Good... teammate. Always really, really fu-unny."

Jay groaned, helping Archie sit back down. "Thanks guys. Really helpful."

Immediately, the young descendant recaptured Atlanta's lips. Jay rolled his eyes. "Enough with the tonsil hockey!"

Atlanta looked up at him for a moment, as if noticing his presence for the first time. "What? I'm... I'm a hockey player." She hiccupped. "I play... hockey."

He strode away, mumbling under his breath. "Fat load of good they are. Where in Hades is Neil?"

Upstairs, the rooftop was transformed. He'd never seen so many people gathered in the place before – it was a wonder that so many people had heard about the party.

_Just a small get-together_, he'd been assured, _nothing major. Just a few friends. Not a big thing. Relax Jay, it will be fine._

"It will be fine," he muttered. "Once I _kill_ Neil."

A hand grabbed his. He spun around to be face to face with – Odie! And a non-drunk Odie at that! He beamed at his friend, thanking every god he could think of that his most sensible and intelligent friend still had the capacity to help him.

"Odie!" He yelled over the music. "Have you seen Neil?"

Odie started, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, Jay. Perhaps... maybe now's not a good time to find Neil..."

"Now is a GREAT time to find Neil!" He bellowed, his patience evaporating swiftly. "Now tell me where he is!"

Odie sighed in defeat. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you. He's in his room."

Jay raced back to the stairs and thundered past Archie and Atlanta. "Get a room, you two!" He called over his shoulder before turning the corner.

Neil's door was locked when he pushed it. Cracking his fingers with a grim smile on his face, he barged it open, ready to pulverise the _idiot_ blonde inside.

_Just a small group of friends_, Neil had assured him. _Just a small party for my birthday. That's all I want Jay, promise. _

Yeah, right. Neil was _so _dead.

Inside, Jay saw something that he definitely did not expect to encounter.

Neil had his arms around the girl, his lips locked onto hers in a passionate fury that Jay was sure – if he applied it in battle – could have knocked out any of Cronus's giants.

They hadn't noticed him throw open the door – they were too entwined in their embrace to notice anything. Jay was glad; he was frozen to the spot in sheer and utter disbelief. _No,_ he though. _No way. No way. There has to be some mistake._

Neil glanced over at him, finally noticing the third person in the room. "Jay, at _last_. I thought you were never going to arrive."

The girl smiled meekly. "Hi, Jay."

He swallowed, rooted to the spot. "Hi, Theresa."

Neil clapped his hands together. "Great, everyone's here! Tell me-" his voice dropped a little, so only Jay could hear him, "- is this a great party or what? Too many people? Too little people? I thought I'd just post it online like that kid from Australia. They reckon about five hundred people turned up to _his_ party." Neil smiled wistfully, lost in thought. "I wonder if we'll beat that..."

"_Neil_," Jay said lowly, a warning. "I. Will. Kill. You."

The blonde snorted. "Relax Jay. I reckon _you_," he prodded the furious teen lightly, "need a drink."

Theresa took the opportunity to speak up. "No need to freak out, Jay. _Just go with it_."

_She's using mind control_, he realized, already succumbing to the psychic's gifts. _I've got to fight-... urgh._

Neil grinned at the redhead. "Theresa, has anyone told you that you are _fabulous_? And I don't mean just with the mind control stuff." He winked at her, and turned back to Jay. "Now, Jay. How about a drink?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Jay woke up with what had to be the world's biggest hangover.

Not only was his head split in two – what else could explain the _ache _in every corner of his brain – he could not remember _anything_. But that might have just been due to the fact he couldn't feel his head past the terrible throbbing.

Gradually, the pain receded enough for him to open a slither of an eye. The effort drained him, but he fought to keep it open long enough to glance at the cream coloured ceiling.

Cream coloured ceiling? That was enough to jolt his memory a tweak. He didn't have cream ceiling...

With as much strength he could muster, he rolled onto his side, and this time, kept his eyes wide open.

Neil was sprawled on the bed, his mouth slightly askew, snoring. His hair was tousled and messy – _not _a good sign. His chest was exposed – bare. With a sinking feeling, Jay realised that he too had no shirt on... or pants for that matter.

Memory came flooding back to him. Neil pouring him a drink. Laughing. Music pumping. More drinking. The memories became more and more clouded. A new face, laughing and dancing. Two emerald eyes... and bright, orange hair.

He rolled onto his other side. Theresa, still fast asleep, lay on his other side, her orange hair messily falling over her shoulders. The sheets covered her, but he was positive that she, too, had not a shred of clothing on.

He felt his heartbeat accelerate. _Oh Zeus. Oh Zeus. This cannot be happening._

He rolled over again, and came face to face with a now very wide awake Neil. The blonde's blue eyes twinkled mischievously, a 'I know something you don't and I'm not telling you' look spread across his face.

"Morning Jay," he said cheerily, stretching out. "Sleep well?"

Jay recoiled in horror, feeling a warm hand brush against his shoulder. Hair tickled the back of his neck. And skin – warm, smooth skin his back. His heart skipped a beat.

"Morning," Theresa whispered in his ear.

Neil surveyed the two – Jay, stock-still, petrified, and Theresa, her compassion filling her face. Man. This was great!

Neil grinned at the two, enjoying the levels of discomfort and unease in his bedroom. _Leave them hanging_, his one of his old managers had once told him. _Better to leave your fans wondering and guessing rather than to have seen enough of you._

Nonchalantly, he placed a hand on top of Theresa's, letting his little finger just brush Jay's bare shoulder. "Jay," he murmured, winking. "Has anyone ever told you that you're _fabulous_? And I don't mean the all leader stuff."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Fabulous? I hope :)_

_I've always had this one in the back of my mind; a party boy Neil and well... Jay. I hope I've done it justice._

_Anyway, this isn't the stuff I normally write, and I tried to keep it as T rated as possible... but, as the saying goes, 'don't like, don't read, don't review'. simple as pie._

_More drabbles... whenever I feel like it :)_


	11. Answer

Answer

"Where do you think you'd be, if you weren't here?"

Jay paused at her question, freezing on the edge of the balcony. The tips of her smooth, manicured fingers lingered just inches from his rough, calloused ones. Her question caught him off guard, and for a moment, he was unsure.

"I dunno. Home, I guess."

She sighed, and stared out at the city scene with more intensity than before. He knew that, though her question had no right or wrong response, he'd said the wrong answer.

"I mean, if you _could_ be anywhere else..."

She stared meaningfully, brilliant green eyes flashing. Not for the first time in the young psychic's presence, he found himself entirely speechless. Mostly because he didn't have a clue what she wanted from him.

Theresa wasn't an easy person to understand. Then again, from the exasperated sighs he got from Odie and Archie sometimes, neither was he.

He tried to be truthful. "I'm not sure. I guess I'd want to be close to home. Somewhere near my family. I've never really been anywhere else."

Again, the wrong answer. Always the wrong answer.

He joined her line of sight, staring out into the tops of the buildings encircling their small Brownstone. He copied her stance, one leg tucked under the other, arms folded loosely across her chest. Teeth tugging at her bottom lip – a habit she was at pains to correct, he knew.

"I've never been anywhere either."

Words hung in the air, like droplets on webs. He shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean? You've been everywhere. Doesn't your Dad take you on those huge business trips with him? I remember you showing us photos..."

She shook her head and corrected him. "I've never been anywhere that _mattered_. Not like a holiday anyway. Whenever we go places it's always to some building, an office or a conference centre! That's Dad's idea of a holiday – working somewhere other than his study."

The confession slumped her shoulders and downcast her eyes. He felt his hands twitching, like he should be doing something with them. He spied her hand – her perfect, manicured, smooth hand – just by his own hand. He knew that in this situation, he was expected to lace his fingers through hers and hold her hand. That's what he should do.

Instead, he gripped her shoulder with a little too much force – enough for her to jump at the sudden contact – and let his arm hang awkwardly.

_Now what_? He wondered.

Theresa, this time, answered. Carefully, and casually, she shrugged off his grip and moved off the edge. Standing up now, she smiled apologetically.

"I'm actually really tired," she explained hastily, trying to cover up the uncomfortable air between them. "I might just go to bed. I'll see you in there morning."

He nodded. "Yeah, okay. 'Night."

She paused expectantly looking at him as if to say, '_is that it_?' Like there was something that he should have said, but didn't. And he didn't have a clue what it might have been.

The pause could only last so long. With a curt nod, she turned heel and walked back to the door leading downstairs, closing it carefully behind her. He watched her go, watched her disappear away.

The wrong response. The wrong answer.

He always had the wrong answer.


	12. Fear

Fear 

Fear is a consciousness, an awareness of reality. The concept that there is a reality; and that there's threats to your place in it.

Fear is the knowledge that reality can be taken away. That you have to cling onto what you've got, with everything you've got.

Jay knew a thing or two about fear.

He knew about awareness. He knew about threats. He'd seen them; fought them even. Battled tirelessly against them. Relentlessly and endlessly. Over and over.

Because he knew that there was no such thing as second chances. No fresh starts. No second go. Every second was individual and measured, unchangeable and unique.

That was his fear. To want to change time. Because he knew he couldn't.

No second chance.


	13. Never Again

A/N: This is a continuation of Chapter 10 - Party. It isn't essential to have read the chapter, but it would be wise (plus its a chapter I'm personally very proud of!).

Enjoy :)

Never Again

The Brownstone kitchen had been the site of many unusual happenings over the course of the two years the seven teens had been living under the same roof.

It had seen battles, housed countless meals, viewed red-faced confessions. And been subjected to Herry.

But the morning after Neil's party was definitely the first time it had to contend with all seven extremely hung over teenagers.

Odie had been the first to stumble into the sleepy kitchen, crashing into the doorway on his way in. Though he had easily the smallest amount of alcohol in his system – mostly due to the fact that he hadn't consumed all that much to begin with – he was still liable to the stabbing headache and churning stomach that would only be amplified for his teammates.

He managed to reach the island, and cleared away a few stray bottles off the marbled surface. They crashed to the floor, rolling away as his head hit the smooth face. He mumbled a few words, mostly along the lines of '_never again'_.

Archie and Atlanta – each still entwined in the other's embrace – were next to arrive. Odie opened an eye dolefully as the pair staggered towards him. Atlanta gave him a bleary-eyed nod, while Archie regained enough consciousness to duck towards the sink.

Odie turned his head away as the purple-haired warrior retched, and crinkled his nose when Atlanta, prone to heaving after hearing others heave, joined him in his body's attempts to expel the excessive alcohol from his system.

One of them – he didn't have the willpower to look over at the two – mumbled between gags.

"_Never... again._"

Herry was the next to stir, drawn to the kitchen with one destination in mind – the fridge. He clung to the sides of the wall, supporting his weight with brute strength alone, and wobbled into the now populated kitchen. Teetering around the outskirts of the room, he paused at the fridge, one hand grasped loosely around the cold metal handle.

He simply didn't have the mental capacity to open it.

Archie and Atlanta, still battling their tormented digestive systems, were too engrossed in their current activity to notice the new occupant to the kitchen. Odie, however, had the sense to reach across and open the fridge door for his burly friend.

Herry glanced at the now open fridge, taking in all the food and left over drinks from the previous night. An open beer bottle was eye level with him, the smell penetrating his brain. Within moments, he had joined Archie and Atlanta at the sink.

_Never again,_ he thought, hurling and retching. _Never again._

It was only fitting that Neil, Theresa and Jay came into the kitchen now, each a lot more aware and conscious than the rest of their friends. Theresa's hands were firmly clasped in both Jay's and Neil's – an action that would have raised more than one eyebrow on any other morning.

Neil shrugged at the scene, and sat at one of the stools opposite the sink. With three backs – and one back of head – turned away from him, he winked subtly at his two companions.

"I don't think we'll be having a party like that one again."

Six unspoken voices answered in chorus. _Never again._


	14. Blood

A/N: Next three are a cute, angsty three-part I've simply called "_Jay_". Naturally, they're all from the point of view of the titular character and my favourite hero of the team (besides Neil). They also are rather heavily implied Jay/Theresa and feature many, slightly confusing flashbacks. Bear with me. I like them.

This one's for _Written Parody_; I believe a hurt Jay was called for :)

Blood

There was a sensation that Jay had learned to associate with blood.

Shock.

A creeping numbness, a disbelief that spread through his body – up his legs, swirling through his chest, slithering up his throat. Then a tickling, usually on his arms or stomach. He'd look down, hear a cry, and see red.

"_Jay, behind you!"_

_The blade struck him as Theresa's cry reached his ears. Milliseconds later, Archie's whip struck Cronus, and the offending scythe disappeared. The god of time cursed angrily, throwing a murderous glare, and disappeared into one of his many time-portals._

_Jay glanced down at his forearm, just as Theresa's light fingers closed around the gaping wound. Blood, dripping red blood, poured down his arm. He swayed on his feet._

Gingerly, he pressed a hand to the bandaged wound, as the memories of the events played in his mind's eye.

"_We need to get him to Chiron immediately, Herry!"_

"_I'm driving as fast as I can!"_

_A cool hand stroked his forehead. It matched the one pressed heavily on his wound, compressing it to help stop the bleeding – like she'd been taught all those classes ago when Chiron had taught them basic first aid._

"_Stay with us, Jay." She whispered._

"I'm not going anywhere."

He traced along the bandage now, as if it were the edge of a knife. That was their life – his life. Always on the edge. One little slip – one mistake – and they'd be cut.

"_Damn it, Herry! He's going into shock – his body's shutting down! Oh gods, can't you drive any faster?"_

"_Theresa, we're still at least ten minutes away!"_

"_He won't last that long!"_

He smiled; the first time Theresa had been wrong. And he was glad that she had been. He remembered waking as the two of them pulled him from the car – looking up into her glassy green eyes, feeling her strong hands still pressed to his seeping arm.

_I'll be alright_, he'd wanted to say_. I'll be fine. It's just a little blood_.


	15. Sweat

A/N: Second part of "_Jay_". Again, may be a little confusing. I'm kind of infatuated with post-break up Jay/Theresa (I know I'm an awful person for making them both so sad; its revenge for them not getting together until the final episode!).

_HoneyGoddess57_, my loyal reviewer, this one's for you! :)

Sweat

"You always do work too hard."

He ignored her crossed-hand stance against the wall from which his punching-bag leaned up against. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and he wiped it with the back of his hand.

"I don't," he grunted, swinging at the bag with flailing fists. "I just want to keep fit!"

She snorted. "Come on, Jay. The only time you leave the gym is to sleep!"

"That's not true."

She pursed her lip, glaring at him. "Oh really? Well, when was the last time you went sailing?"

"Last Thursday." He answered smoothly, stepping back from the bag to have a swig of water from his nearby drink bottle. Greedily, he drank, sighing as the cool liquid hit the back of his throat.

"The last time you read a book?"

"Yesterday. I had an assessment on _To Kill A Mockingbird_."

"And the last time you went on a date?"

He glanced upward at her sharply. Her green eyes were clouded, troubled. With him, no doubt. He was only too aware of how much Theresa worried about him – an excessive amount.

His answer was soft-spoken, as if he were afraid that there were others in the empty hall to hear his reply.

"With you. That night we... when... When we watched that movie."

Theresa looked away, her cheeks flushing a brilliant crimson. "Oh." She said after a moment. "I hadn't realized... I would have thought that you'd have been on another date since that."

He caught her gaze when she looked up, and held it there. He spoke slowly.

"No one else would compare."

She stared back at him for a moment, until she wrenched her eyes from his gaze and hurried away, back to the steps and out of the hall. Her hurried footsteps retreated back into the peace of the empty stretch of the hidden wing of the school outside, and he cursed himself for bringing up _that _night.

He turned back to the bag, laying into it with as much force as he could until his knuckles bled. It was easier than having to think about the awkwardness between him and Theresa – the silence and unease that they'd created themselves.

Maybe it was just better this way. Maybe it was easier to drown himself in sweat than to think about the past.

It certain hurt a lot less.


	16. Tears

A/N: Final part of the three-part "_Jay_". Again, same warnings from previous chapters. This one also contains a warning of its own. I've been updating fairly regularly, but this may be the end of the regular updates. Due to exams, and other commitments, it may be some days/weeks until the next installment. Or tomorrow. You never know.

I'm a sucker for traditions. So, in honor of of the other parts of this small trilogy, this chapter is dedicated to _jennieman _and _Aussie Heroine. _Thanks guys :)

Tears

In all the time he'd known her, he'd never seen her cry until the New Year's Day that never happened.

"_First we lost Odie, and now we're losing you." She looked away from him, a slender hand reaching to her face to wipe away the beginnings of a tear. He watched her, the pathos of the situation spilling out over his face. He couldn't stop his arm from reaching out to comfort her, drawing her closer to him._

"_Hey, you haven't lost me."_

Hadn't they?

Jay scanned her room quickly, as old memories and events flooded his vision. A year on, and he was still reminiscing in the past. _Snap out of it, Jay_! There was no use living in the past, he had always told himself, not when there was a future to be lived.

The room was empty, as it should be. Just as he'd expected.

"She's out, Jay!" A voice called from the hallway, he couldn't pick whose it was. It didn't matter.

It didn't change that Theresa was gone and he had been wrong to let her go.

"_If you've got nothing else to say...?"_

_Her hope was stretched across her face; her yearning desire. They both knew what she wanted – hell, what he wanted – and they both knew the consequences. _

_He could see her, standing in front of him with her arms folded across her chest and an impending doom waiting behind her._

"_What else is there to say?"_

Nothing. And everything.

But it didn't change anything.

_A tear rolled down her cheek, and she pushed his arm off her shoulder. "Don't touch me, Jay!" She cried, and flung her small body away from him. _

"_Theresa, I-"_

"_Haven't you already hurt me enough, Jay? Just leave me alone!"_

He had. Too much.

"_Leave me alone!"_

And so he had. He'd left her alone. And he'd watched her go.

Even now, he was still watching her go.

But it didn't change the fact that he couldn't change what had happened. He wasn't Cronus – he couldn't take a step back in time and let events play out a little differently. He couldn't correct the errors of his past. He couldn't.

It didn't change that Theresa was gone and he had been wrong to let her go.


	17. Hipster

A/N: Just a quick little chapter. A conversation between Theresa, Herry and a Hipster Neil. Doesn't really make sense, I know, but it's cute and I'm a sucker for Neil.

Enjoy.

Hipster

"Do I look Hipster in this shirt?"

Theresa looked up from her Math book perched on the kitchen table as Neil twirled in front of her, showing off a printed T-shirt. '_I only use sarcasm ironically'_, it pronounced in bold black letters.

Resisting the urge to laugh, she nodded. "Sure. Totally Hipster."

"Who's Hipster?"

Herry strode through the hallway from the door, making a beeline to the fridge. He disappeared for a few moments behind the fridge door, reappearing with a mouth full of whatever had caught his eye.

"Who's Hipster?" He repeated, spraying Theresa and Neil with the contents of his mouth. She recoiled swiftly. _Cake_, she thought_, definitely cake_.

"I am!" Neil exclaimed boldly, showing off his new shirt with much flamboyancy.

Herry, who didn't have Theresa's tact, burst out into laugher. "You?" He chortled. "Hipster? Please."

Neil pouted, scrutinizing Herry as he pulled out his mirror from the pocket of his grey skinny jeans. It was harder than he'd expected – the jeans were tight! "At least I have a style. _F.Y.I._ Herry, the 'I-Just-Spilt-Food-On-Me-Because-I'm-An-Uncivilised-Pig' Look is _so_ last year."

Herry growled threatening under his breath. "I'll show you _uncivilised_."

"I'd rather you didn't. Getting beaten up is _so_ mainstream."


	18. She Will Be Loved

A/N: ... I'm also a sucker for Maroon 5. Particularly this song - _She Will Be Loved. _It's beautifully irresistable... and perfect for one sided Neil/Theresa, one of my favourite pairings. So, naturally, I had to use the song for this dabble.

Also, there may be more. This has inspired several other Maroon 5 drabbles, but I'll just wait and see how this one goes first.

Dedications... To the person who continues to make my days with brilliant, warm reviews. This one's also for _WrittenParody_.

She Will Be Loved

Jay never loved her like he did.

Not once, not ever had he ever acknowledged his all too obvious feelings for the pretty redhead. Nor had he acknowledged her feelings either. He knew they were there, and she knew of his too. This made it all the more complicated – and heartbreaking.

Not that Jay was a bad friend to Theresa. No, he wasn't a complete, hopeless wreck. He only turned her into one, after every denial and denunciation of any glimmer of a relationship between them. And that would always leave him trying to pick up the pieces of where Jay left off.

He knew that, if he was given the chance, he'd love her right.

_Beauty queen of only eighteen_

_She had some trouble with herself_

_He was always there to help her_

_She always belonged to someone else_

Theresa didn't see that Jay was just as hopeless and she was. She didn't see anything that didn't involve their stupid, reckless leader.

He had once hated her for it. Hated her for not seeing him.

Now it only made him miserable.

And alone. Always alone.

_I drove for miles and miles_

_And wound up at your door_

_I've had you so many times_

_But somehow I want more_

He supposed that it was partly his fault. His own, stupid fault that he was invisible to Theresa. The constant complaining about _everything_. The pretence that he didn't care about anyone but himself. His self-absorbed tendencies and narcissist attitude.

What he would give to tell her it was all an act, and be done with it.

What he would give to take off the mask.

Because, if he was to confess, maybe she would see him. Maybe it would have been worth his while. Maybe they could settle down.

Maybe she'd settle for less.

_I don't mind spending every day_

_Out on your corner in the pouring rain_

_Look for the girl with the broken smile_

_Ask her if she wants to stay a while_

He would always be there for her. Always. He made that promise. He'd never let her down like Jay did. Jay didn't love her, but he did.

Neil would always love her.

_And she will be loved_

_She will be loved_


	19. Friday

A/N: Not the best, I know. But, then again, neither was the song.

Friday

"_It's Friday, Friday_

_Gotta get down on Friday!"_

"For the love of Zeus... NEIL, TURN THE GOD-AWFUL MUSIC OFF!"

Neil grinned wickedly at the sounds of groans and curses from the hall upstairs. "Why should I?" He called innocently. "It's not my problem you're all incredibly tired from your outing yesterday – that I wasn't invited to!"

He, of course, was referring to their invitation to visit Poseidon in the newly rebuilt and repopulated Atlantis. Neil hadn't exactly missed an invitation, but accepting one would have meant getting wet, and in turn screwing up his hair-care cycle.

Naturally, he had voiced this explanation, and endured the amusement of his fellow team mates and the recall of his invitation.

_My turn_, he thought, _time for some early morning Friday-style revenge._

"_Kickin' in the front seat_!" He sang loudly, ensuring that the entire Brownstone could hear him. "_Sitting in the backseat!_"

"NEIL!"

"_Gotta make my mind up, which seat do I take?"_

Herry was the first to snap, stumbling down the stairs, searching bleary-eyed for the source of their early-morning wake up. Not far behind him, Archie and Atlanta had the same idea.

"Find Neil," Atlanta muttered. "Find him and kill him."

Still in the kitchen, blasting the latest internet sensation, Neil suddenly found himself flung over Archie's shoulder, and Atlanta's small fists pounding into his arm.

"TURN THE GOD DAMN MUSIC OFF!"

"_It's Friday, Friday! Gotta get down on Friday!_"

The music was off; Neil was not. Though Archie had resorted to cupping both her hands over his mouth, and Atlanta kicking him viciously, he still bellowed the words with incoherent amusement.

Upstairs, Jay had two pillows covering his head as he tried to block out the words to the YouTube sensation. Down the hall, Theresa wasn't having much luck either.

"GET NEIL TO SHUT UP!"

"_WE SO EXCITED, WE SO EXCITED!"_

"NEEEEEIL!"

"_FUN, FUN, FUN!"_

"SHUT UP!"

"_LOOKIN' FORWARD TO THE WEEKEND!_"

With that, Neil smiled brightly at his beyond-peeved friends. The song was over, and he was satisfied in his revenge.

"Morning, guys." He said, stretching out his arms as Herry put him back on his own feet unceremoniously. "Aren't you excited? Weekend's coming up."

He was treated to blank looks, followed by a chorus of bleakly thankful swears. Archie mumbled a string of words that sounded a lot like '_tank duck please lopped_!', but Neil wasn't naive enough to believe that was what he'd actually said.

"There's no need to be so rude." He said sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's only fair. You guys were horrible to me yesterday. This is karma."

Herry shook his head exasperatedly. "Neil, you didn't have to take it this far. You woke everyone up!"

This wasn't entirely true. Down in his sound-proofed basement, completely oblivious to the incident, Odie was snoring contently.


	20. Love

A/N: In one of my many alternative universes, where I take it upon myself to emotionally torture the poor characters for my own purposes, this is one such misfortune suffered.

Theresa, I am sorry I keep doing this to you. Please forgive me.

Love

Three months.

Three whole months. A quarter of a year. A small chapter in their lives, and yet three months had meant the entire world to Theresa.

Three months since Jay had met Medellia.

She watched the two now from her spying point in the kitchen, curled up in each other's embrace on the lounge, watching some sappy romcom that made her want to vomit.

Theresa didn't have to be psychic to see the Jay smiled when he said her name, or the careful way he swept her blonde bangs out of her eyes.

From her vantage point, she monitored the two, watching as their auras turned deep pink and gold, and hers into shades of black and grey.

"Is it safe to look?"

Herry stumbled down the stairs, bellowing tactlessly with one hand over his eyes. It was a running gag within the gang that someone – usually Herry or Odie – would be misfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the pair sucking face.

Jay's aura flashed with red. "Very funny." He snarled. Yet, the red quickly faded into a lighter pink as Medellia stroked his cheek comfortingly.

If possible, Theresa's aura darkened even more.

Herry uncovered his eyes and plonked into the seat on the other side of the kitchen bench that she hovered behind. "Hey." he said, his hazel eyes piercing hers. Herry wasn't one for emotional comfort, yet he wasn't so completely thick that he hadn't seen the way Theresa looked at Jay when Medellia was around.

"Hi." Came the unconscious reply.

"You going to stand there all day?"

"Yep."

Herry shifted uneasily. He didn't really know what to say to her. He could see she was hurting; they all could. Theresa had a tendency to feel emotion more than most – part of her powers, he supposed. But this? She was never this lifeless. It was as if with every day passing of Jay's relationship with Medellia, a small part of Theresa was dying inside.

"How are you?" He asked, uncomfortable with the lack of speech.

She rolled her eyes. "Happy as Bacchus with a room full of wine."

"There's no need to be short with me."

"There's no reason to be taking pity on me."

A snarky Theresa wasn't something Herry wanted to be dealing with. Usually, Atlanta or Neil would formulate plans to get Theresa away when Medellia came over to the Brownstone, but Jay had them following a flock of Stymphallian birds that had hatched in the bell tower of the town church. That left himself, Archie and Odie to keep her busy, but the other two had mysteriously disappeared after a package labelled_ Full Gore Zombie Invasion Five _had been delivered with the morning post.

That left him alone to take the full brunt of Theresa's hurt.

Herry shrugged. "Maybe I like pity parties. Beats sitting over there with _them_." He jabbed his thumb at the pair, giggling and kissing on the lounge.

Theresa followed his line of gaze, and instantly looked away. Though Herry could not see it, a flash of pure, black pain struck through her aura, like lightning, the second she'd glanced at Jay and Medellia.

"Herry," she whispered softly. "You don't have to be here."

He shrugged again. "Neither do you." He paused for a moment. Why was she here? If it were him, he'd be as far away as possible, holed up in a far corner of the Brownstone, keeping his distance from the two. Not sulking in the kitchen.

He asked her this, and she met his eyes with a cold set in her jaw.

"Because this is _my_ fault. I didn't tell Jay how I feel. I missed my chance, now _I _have to deal with the consequences."

Herry sighed. "You love him, and I get that. But Jay won't be with Medellia forever, right? If you really love him, and he really loves you, then you can wait for him to realize his feelings. That's what love is; waiting."

They both glanced over at the two now, and Theresa's gaze lingered for a moment longer than the last time. Jay's lips were trailing kisses over Medellia's cheek, and he paused to whisper in her ear.

They both could make out the words. Three, plain, simple words.

Theresa turned back to Herry. A single tear had welled up in the corner of her eye, and he could tell there was more to follow.

"If that's what love is, then I don't want anything to do with it."


	21. Gluttony

A/N: Deadly sin, anyone?

Gluttony

Not for the first time, or dare say the last time, Athena watched on in sheer amazement as Herry wolfed down an unnatural amount of food.

The brawny teen was always the hungriest at breakfast, and today was no exception. The plates of pancakes she'd spent tedious minutes preparing were disappearing faster than she could cook, and she was beginning to question the wellbeing of Herry, appetite-wise.

"Herry..." she began cautiously, as the teen scoffed down what had to be his fifteenth pancake. "I'm all for keeping your strength up... but don't you reckon you've had enough to eat?"

The boy looked at her in alarm. "Nodidumfinkemetenoumush." Several crumbs of half-chewed pancake hit Athena during his illegible comment. She froze in disdain.

"What?"

He rolled his eyes, and swallowed the contents of his mouth. "I say, no, I don't think I'm eating too much."

Athena smiled calmly. "Herry, the only thing that eats more than you is a juvenile hippopotamus."

The boy pondered this for a moment, and Athena cursed herself internally, thinking that she may have hurt his feelings. The mortals were like her children – she didn't have any of her own – and though she constantly complained about everything they did, she had a motherly protectiveness about them.

Herry looked up at her again, and she braced for a tantrum of sorts. Instead;

"Okay, so I'll only have _ten _pancakes for breakfast. No need to starve me or anything."

She exhaled in relief, then realized the decision he'd put forward. "Ten pancakes?" She cried. "_Ten pancakes_?"

"And I'll only have five hamburgers tonight."

"_Five hamburgers_?"

Herry shrugged. "If you wanted me to eat less, you should've said something before. It's a good thing I'm not as hungry as I used to be."

Athena may have fainted if she knew how much food he used to eat.


	22. Everyone Matters

A/N: Just a quick chapter, light but with some dark. Like a panda.

Everyone Matters

"Alright mortals, listen up!"

Ares called for quiet, wasting no time smacking Archie over the head to get the teen's attention. The rest of the group fell silent immediately.

"Okay, class, here's today's training challenge. For lack of time or energy to simulate it, this will be an _individual _oral challenge." He eyed each of them with a grim smile.

"Cronus has captured townsfolk and has them under his control. They are now out to kill you. They have no added abilities, just their human strengths and weaknesses. I'd prefer them not to be killed, as bodies make things messy. Your challenge is to solve how to break the spell and defeat Cronus. You have one minute to strategise – alone!"

He was met by seven blank faces. Neil raised his hand. "Uh, Mr Ares, I'm not quite sure-"

"FIND A WAY TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM!"

The teens dispersed, each into a different area of the training yard. He watched, making sure there was no contact between any of them, and sank back into his chair. _Idiots, _he thought. _As if that's a problem worthy of a training session. If my back wasn't so sore I'd have roped them a Harpy or something..._

A minute later, he whistled, motioning for them to form a circle around him."Right, what have you got?" He pointed to Neil first, grinning. "Neil?"

The blonde shrugged, inspecting himself in his mirror. "Easy. I'll use my dazzling looks to override Cronus's spell, and compel them to fight him."

Ares blinked a few times, wondering if Neil was making a mockery of his challenge. But when the boy didn't laugh or smile, he was forced to conclude that it was, indeed, his answer to the problem.

He muttered angrily under his breath. "_Idiot boy_. Odie?"

"I'd set up a series of Stunners and bait the spell-affected people into them. And then I'd use electro-therapy to break through the mental hold – it's a proven scientific means to break hypnosis using electricity. If you pass just the right current through the hippocampus-"

Ares paled. "Okay. Theresa?"

The psychic smiled, absentmindedly twisting a lock of orange hair around her finger. "I would use my powers to break their spell. Persephone says that if a spell cast on more than one thing comes from the same source, then, if you break one, you break all of them."

The others weren't much better. Atlanta was ready to round up all the affected civilians and trap them, while Herry would fight them all into unconsciousness until he literally _broke_ the spell. Jay wanted to use family members to break the hold – emotional ties could break spells, apparently.

Ares had just about had enough when Archie proclaimed he'd evacuate all civilians in the way of the affected ones. He cut of his pupil, silencing him with one hand over the purple-haired teen's mouth.

"Enough!" He cried. "You're all forgetting the key element – Cronus! He's the source of the spell! He's the biggest problem! You shouldn't worry about saving the mortals when you should be fighting Cronus!"

The seven descendants stared at him with incredulous faces. None of them dared to speak as he ranted, but now that he'd stopped, Odie piped up.

"Uh, Ares, it's not like we can just abandon everyone in the city. We're _mortals_ too. We look out for each other."

The others nodded fiercely in agreement with this. Jay smiled apologetically at their instructor, who was slowly turning a shade of purple in clear anger.

"It's not that we don't want to fight Cronus... it's just that we're more concerned for the mortals. Cronus can't die. People can."

Ares couldn't hold it in any longer; he exploded in a fit of rage. "IT DOESN'T MATTER ABOUT THE DAMN MORTALS! WHAT MATTERS IS BEATING CRONUS!"

Jay remained calm, shaking his head politely when Ares had finished. "We're mortals too. We matter."

Ares gave Jay a long, hard look. "Jay, when you get to my age, you'll realize that not everyone matters."


	23. One Day At A Time

A/N: First update in a while. Just a short one that popped into my head a while ago (in English class, ironically enough). I know this chapter is kind of pointless (and plotless) but it's a drabble. Go with it :)

Oh, and a quick word of thanks. Mainly to the wonderful, brilliant, kind and loyal **Written Parody**. You make my day with every review. I know I don't thank you enough, and so I'd like to do that now. Your reviews get me through writing, one day at a time.

This one's for you.

One Day At A Time

In Jay's mind, nothing was worse than a double period of English. _Nothing_.

Being the word-orientated duo of the seven, Jay and Theresa had been placed in the top English class at the start of the year. The rest either had no interest in the works of the English and American cannons, or, in Archie's case, had been prevented from entering any top class, due to the fact that he'd rarely show up to any class at all.

At first, the top had been kind of cool. But now, snowed under a mountain of essays and assessments, it was definitely _not_ cool.

Jay glanced at the book list placed in front of him. Next to him, Theresa had already begun peering through it. A few seconds later, she scrunched it up and threw the wadded paper away.

"Don't bother reading any of them," she warned. "We'll only be doing a Shakespeare and Bronte this semester."

Jay frowned. "You're sure?

She tapped the side of her head, her lips spread in a grin. "Positive."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Fine," he said dismissively. "If you're so _smart_, what Shakespeare plays will we be studying then?"

"Easy." She closed her eyes in concentration for a moment. "_Othello_… and _Romeo and Juliet_, but we're doing Othello next semester."

Jay grimaced. "_Great_. That means we're doing _Romeo and Juliet_ this term." Like many other males, Jay had a healthy discontent for the Bard's most famous play.

_Too many words and not enough action_, he thought. _And there's hardly _real_ action._

"I heard that!"


	24. Sometimes You Get A Happy Ending

A/N: This chapter has a few references, so I'll take the time to acknowledge some of them and announce some disclaimers.

I don't own _Clash of the _Titans, Troy (but I wished I Orlando Bloom!), _The Lightning Thief_ or _No Strings Attached_.

This is kind of a dig at myself more than anything. After rereading this story, I realized that I have treated my characters extremely badly. Not only have I caused Theresa and Jay heartbreak over and over, I've also been kind of mean to Neil and the rest as well.

So, enough with the misery and heartbreak. Sometimes, you get a happy ending.

Sometimes You Get A Happy Ending

"I'm sick of sad movies!"

Jay looked over at his companion. Theresa was curled up on the sofa next to him, a look of distaste on her features as the credits for _Troy _rolled across the screen of the TV.

"That wasn't a sad movie!" He scoffed. "It's an action movie. _Way_ too many battle scenes to be classified as a _sad movie_." Jay shook his head dismissively, visions of battles and swords still dancing across his eyes. No matter how historically inaccurate, _Troy _was still one of his all-time favourite movies.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But it's a sad ending. And I'm sick of them!"

"Because of one movie?"

"No. Last week you made me watch _Clash of the Titans_."

"It wasn't that much of the sad ending!"

"And we went to see _The Lightning Thief_ on Saturday."

"It didn't have a sad ending!"

"You cried in it."

"That's because the chick didn't kiss him!"

"Whatever." Theresa folded her arms across her chest angrily. "I always see sad endings when I see movies with you."

"And that's my fault?" He spluttered.

What Theresa didn't know was that Jay had been informed (by a certain descendant of Hercules and a descendant of Odysseus) that when a girl and a guy watched a movie with a non-happy ending, the girl would be more inclined to watch another movie with the guy.

But maybe the sad-ending thing ran out at three movies. Theresa certainly was sick of them, and he had to think fast if he wanted to save what was left of their night.

"Maybe next time I'll take you to a happy movie." He suggested. "I'm sure we can find something."

Theresa snorted. "Do you even know what a happy ending is, Jay?" She challenged. Their eyes locked.

Of course he knew what a happy ending was. A happy ending was when good beat evil, when the guy got the girl, when everybody lived to tell the tale. A happy ending was when Cronus was back in Tarturus, and his team were alive and well; when they could all go back to their old lives and live as if none of this had happened.

He was the one to break off the glare – no one could match Theresa when it came to giving the evil eyes.

"We could go see _No Strings Attached_."

She raised an eyebrow. "A romcom? I didn't think you could sink _that_ low."

"I was just trying to be considerate." He sounded wounded, and he looked away, his eyes downcast. Theresa bit her lip, a guilty feeling sinking into her stomach.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, after a moment of aggrieved silence. "That was unfair."

He looked up, a small smile of forgiveness plastered on his face. He could never stay angry with her for too long. "It's cool."

Somewhere in the Brownstone, a clock was chiming. A few seconds later, Jay's watch beeped at him, as it did every hour. He glanced down – ten o'clock. Not that late for a Saturday night, but they had training the next morning. The others were already in bed, and he knew that he and Theresa should probably follow suit.

"Bed time?" He asked. The psychic nodded, stifling a yawn. She stretched her arms out behind her.

"Guess we probably should. Ares _will_ have us working hard tomorrow." Her matter-of-fact tone brought a grimace to Jay's face. He'd been hoping that tomorrow would be a simple training with their mentors. Theresa's infallible predictions had enough weight to shatter this hope.

"Well…" he began, unsure of how to end the night. _Do I wish her goodnight? Kiss her on the cheek?_

"I had a good time." Theresa murmured, Jay's hesitant start forgotten. Her green eyes locked back onto Jay's as she smiled gently. "And forget what I said earlier. Sometimes, you get a happy ending." She leaned across, hesitating for a moment, before carefully placing her lips to his. He sat motionless, the shock freezing her on the sofa.

"Theresa…"

Quickly, she launched herself backwards, her cheeks red. "Uh… thanks for asking me to watch the movie." She stuttered, and hastily made her retreat upstairs. He heard her thunder up the stairs, and her door snap shut behind her.

Gradually, feeling returned back into her limbs. Tentatively, he traced a finger along his lip. The spot where her lips had brushed his still tingled. A smile broke out over his flushed face.

She was right. Sometimes, you get a happy ending.


	25. Hope

A/N: Just a quick one, I _hope _you guys enjoy it.

Hope

There was always hope.

Hope that, one day, they'd defeat Cronus.

Hope that they wouldn't lose themselves in the process.

But that was the thing about hope. You could hope all you wanted, but it didn't make them win. Hope didn't fight battles. Hope didn't lock the cell that Cronus had escaped. Hope didn't heal wounds and broken bones.

But hope was all they had, even in the darkest of times. When even Jay couldn't think up a plan, or pick up a sword. Hope was all that was left to them on the lowest and darkest of times. Hope never ran away, never deserted them.

There was always just a glimmer of hope, and they had to keep their hopes up.


	26. How to Say

A/N: I don't think I mention it enough, but I actually love Odie to bits. And it really bugs me that his character isn't fully explored. He's always viewed as the goofy, nerdy guy who comes up with all the smart ideas, but I think there's more depth to Odie than that.

How to Say

If there was ever one thing Odie could never learn, it was how to say _I love you_.

While the more practical skills he acquired from rigorous training sessions with Ares were beneficial in encounters with Cronus and any other enemies, the life-skills that would help to get a date after school were lost to him.

It wasn't like he could ask any of his mentors. They were too ancient to know the modern teenage culture (he had asked Hephaestus about his predicament, but the god had suggested that he woo a girl with an offering of ten cattle).

Even his only reliable, constant friend had been next to useless. The Internet had nothing on the practicalities of a guy like him asking out a girl. No walk through guides, no cheat codes. The most constructive piece of information had told him that girls were completely unpredictable.

That didn't do him any good. He was ordered, sensible, realistic and decoded.

Maybe that was his problem. He was too unchanging, too structured to be spontaneous. The closest he got to _spontaneous_ was when he switched the level of difficultly on his computer games to hard.

All he wanted to be able to say was something more than his generic jargon spiel and to get outside his perfectly assembled world. To live outside the box – to learn more than what was necessary for the essentials of computing and software.

He wanted to learn how to be creative. He wanted to learn how to say _more_.


	27. Eyes Wide Open

A/N: _Cheesy_, should be the title of this chapter. However, I am on a Snow Patrol binge, and therefore it has a deep and meaningful name instead.

Enjoy! :)

Eyes Wide Open

_She always looked beautiful when she was fighting._

_Thunk_. The padded training sword caught the teen in the side of the head, pulling him swiftly out of whatever had been occupying his thoughts previously. He stumbled a few paces to the left from the impact, all reflect moves of blocking and counter-attacking gone as his brain rattled the sides of his head.

Still grasping the training sword, his opponent bit her lip in concern for her dazed friend. The rest of the group surrounding them chuckled under their breaths.

"Jay?" Theresa peered at their leader, doubled over and clutching his stunned head. "Are you okay?" She glanced over at Ares, standing in his typical arms-crossed-and-no-nonsense-or-whining stance. The god made a dismissive gesture.

"Don't give me that look." He retorted, unconcerned. "Jay's fine. Finish him off."

Theresa knew that she hadn't done anything wrong – the hit was perfectly above board. In fact, Ares encouraged headshots – it made it 'more real'. _Cronus and his minions won't go nice and aim for your flailing limbs_, he always told them. _Aim for the weak spot! Gorgons; neck. Stymphalian Birds; lots of noise. Hydra; fire. Men; between the legs._

She hadn't hit Jay _there_, but she'd done him enough damage to knock him about. Calmly, she tightened her grip on the sword again and swung at Jay. This time, she caught him in the stomach; she heard the air whoosh out of him.

He fell to the ground, and a cheer erupted from the small group of onlookers gathered on the side around the sparring mat. Theresa smiled bashfully, and swiftly stepped over to Jay.

The young descendant lay on his side, winded from her last blow. She pulled him up to his feet, smiling apologetically.

He rolled his eyes at her, panting slightly. His forehead shone lightly with sweat. "Guess you won that one." He looked away, downcast.

She nodded, a coy smile still stretched across her face. "Guess I did."

The others had reached them now. Herry swept Theresa into crushing bear hug, lifting the lithe fighter into the air. "That's our Theresa!" He boomed. "Got the better of you, didn't she Jay?"

Archie sniggered. "Don't know what happened there, Jay. You were watching her the entire time! How did you not see that uppercut?"

Memory came flooding back into Jay's still-scrambled mind. He'd been watching, alright. Not at the practice sword in Theresa's hands, but at the way she carried herself with the grace and ease of a skilled professional, at how the corners of her mouth lifted just a little as she got the upper hand, the way the fierce determination and concentration made her green eyes glow and sparkle.

Yes, he'd been watching.


	28. Cosmic Love

I'm sorry about the long wait for the next few drabbles. What can I say? It's called a life away from screens?

Just a quick, little drabble from an Ipod shuffle challenge. Dedicated to the AMAZING human being, Florence Welch, and my loyal reviewers. **HoneyGoddess57, Written Parody, Toymaker, AngryOlympian, WhereDidYouGo **and **SJ3GIRL** to name a few. You guys make my day(s) :)

Cosmic Love

_I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map_

_And knew that somehow I could find my way back_

_Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too_

_So I stayed in the darkness with you_

_- _Florence and the Machine, _Cosmic Love_

* * *

Theresa always wished upon falling stars.

It was an odd habit of hers. She didn't make wishes on other ridiculous things like eyelashes and four leaf clovers. They didn't hold much magic in her eyes.

But, as a child, she'd always seen something magical in the stars. Every night, she'd take the time to look out her bedroom window and gaze at the heavens, hoping to catch a glimpse of a falling star, and make a wish.

When she was five, it was ballet shoes.

When she was ten, it was a pony.

When she was sixteen, it was a car.

Each night a falling star made an appearance, she'd wish. And of a morning, she'd run downstairs and tell her father of the wish she'd made the previous night. And then, mysteriously, the object of her desire would appear at the front door, as if the stars had heard her wishes, and granted them.

It had only occurred to her after the shiny red convertible had shown up on the doorstep that her father might have been the source of the present-giving, rather than any magical stars. Theresa didn't mind though; secretly, in her heart, she'd always know. She'd just chosen not to think about it.

Maybe that was the magic of the wishing on falling stars. Not the thrill of desiring, or the anticipation of wishing, but the hope in believing.


	29. Better That Way

Better That Way

No matter how long she stared at him, it didn't change anything.

Jay didn't love her.

Not for the first time, Theresa found herself staring at the young leader, quietly eating a sandwich with Herry and Archie on the couch whilst watching a basketball game. Sitting at the kitchen table, her Math homework lay discarded, forgotten. She'd wandered over to the other couch a while ago, and was happy enough to sit absentmindedly and 'watch the game'.

She watched him laugh and chat with the two boys, occasionally cheering as a team shot a basket. She smiled every time the corners of his mouth lifted upwards, the action extending into his face. When Jay smiled, his eyes smiled too – chocolate orbs twinkling in joy.

Truth be told, Cronus be damned, she loved him. More than she could possibly understand. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd been attracted to him the very first time she'd seen him, and been captivated by the Greek boy ever since.

He turned to look at her, his eyes still twinkling. He smiled again, as if it were some huge secret between them. His gaze lingered for a moment – she couldn't turn away – but his eyes returned to the TV screen at the cheers of Herry and Archie.

There was no huge secret. Jay didn't know how she felt. It was _her_ secret, hers alone. One day, maybe, she'd tell him. One day when Cronus and destiny didn't matter.

Until that day came around, it was her burden to bear. She loved him, and Jay didn't know.

No, Jay didn't know.

It was better that way.


	30. Homework

_A/N: Something that's always been lurking in the back of my mind. So, here it is. _

_X_

If you didn't _know_, what would you think of them?

Homework

Like all the teachers at New Olympia High, Pricilla Gough loathed the seven students that had become the entire population of her persistent detention group.

The seven weren't the typical delinquents in the making that she'd grown accustom to sharing her lunchtimes and afternoons with. Polite, charming even, and they all displayed intelligence, some more than others. To an outsider only observing a single lesson, they would be model students.

But, prolonged study would show that the seven, no matter how gifted they appeared to be, were actually the most indolent of all the students.

For one, they rarely handed in homework or assignments. They performed poorly in tests, showing no signs of regular studying. They often fell asleep in class, and were always engaged in whispered conversation amongst themselves. Even when separated (which happened all too often), they'd continue to communicate via the identical mobile phones they all possessed. Sometimes they wouldn't show up to her lessons at all.

And it wasn't just one or two of the strange group. They'd all be away, or they'd all be there. It was the same with assessments and homework.

She'd sent numerous notes home, but Pricilla got the feeling that either their parents didn't care, or the notes simply weren't getting home.

She contemplated this during lunch on Thursday. She hated Thursdays – it was the only day of the week that she had the sophomores for double English, right before lunch. That meant she had a gruelling two hours of _them_, and then another hour of lunchtime detention supervision on top of that.

They'd sprawled themselves out in the classroom, each occupying a table and chair close enough to be within whispering distance of each other, and far enough away from her desk at the front for their hushed conversation not to be overheard.

The brawny one – she didn't mean to be rude, but the muscles that popped out of his arms when he flexed scared her to death – was the closest seated to her. Back when the rumour mill had gossiped that they were a gang of dealers, she had assumed he was their hit man. A simple assumption. He appeared threatening, and she'd held back on lecturing him like she did with the rest of them. No need to get on the bad side of _those_ muscles.

But he was pleasant enough in class for the rumour to obviously be exaggerated. Although a little dim-witted and lacking common sense, he was a nice enough – if uncontrollably lazy.

Two seats to his left was the purple haired one, the angry one. If any of them was likely to be a hit man, it would be him. He was the only one that would snap at his classmates and teachers – never at his small group of friends though. Ironically enough, he showed a high level of basic knowledge in her classes, and seemed to have a passion for the poetry of the ancient writers they'd studied.

Behind him, the shortest of them, the girl with the fire truck red hair, sat cross-legged on her chair. She also had a temper, a trait that seemed to be what made her and the purple-haired boy such close friends. She'd seen the two serving detentions together in other classes, and all the teachers in the school suspected that they were in a relationship of sorts.

A smaller boy sat next to the girl, a darker boy who seemed a bit out of place when compared to the other seven. While he had not showed much appreciation for English, the science and mathematics staff raved about his abilities, and the wasted potential he had. He didn't complete homework, and though he performed well in tests, most of his teachers felt that he was holding back a bit. Pricilla had initially encouraged him to show these abilities – she just knew that his involvement with his gang of friends limited his potential. However, it was to no prevail, and he was as uninspired as the rest of the teens.

The most tedious of the seven, the blonde one, was seated in the middle of the room. His feet were resting on the top of his table – she'd scolded him for the action at the start of lunch, but he'd just given her a blank look and ignored the instruction. He was the most self-centred, unfocused and lazy student she had ever taught – an achievement that she was confident he prided himself in.

The last two of the group sat a little further away than the rest, in the far corner of the room. Pricilla had always noted how they seemed close; they always sat quietly in their corner of the room, never disrupting the class or drawing attention to themselves. Occasionally, the girl would lapse into fits of some kind – her file said that she suffered from mild epilepsy. Pricilla thought that was a load of garbage – the fits that the girl had didn't quite match those of an epileptic's.

The boy was the leader of the group, she knew – he was the spokesperson for when they rocked up to class late, or didn't hand in homework, or explained why they were always falling asleep in class. He was mature, even polite.

She'd heard the students in whispered conversations about the group. Hushed talks about the mysterious gang. Sometimes, when the seven weren't in class, the other students would talk about them more loudly, so that she could hear.

"_I've heard they're some kind of cult."_ Bianca Lewis had insisted last month.

"_They're actually CIA spies investigating the teenage brain."_ Had been another rumour suggested by Brian Young.

"_It's obvious – they're dealing. Gateway drugs and stuff. Everybody knows it." _ That was the currently widely-accepted explanation for the mysterious group.

Pricilla knew it wasn't her place to make assumptions about her students, but she knew there was something _different_ about the seven; something that not even dealing drugs could explain. None of the rumours and stories quite fit, and she had a mild wish to be the one to uncover the real truth.

Until then, if it ever did happen, she could guess all she wanted during the countless and unending detentions.

Somewhere, outside the classroom, a bell clanged offbeat to announce the end of lunch and the recommencing of lessons. She stood from her seat as the seven rose in perfect harmony.

"Off you go, then." She told them, waving the teenagers away with a weary gesture.

They filed out, like ants to their nest. The leader of the group, the Greek one, was the last to leave. He hovered at the door, catching her eye before stepping out the door.

_I'm sorry_, his apologetic face said, yet the unvoiced words spoke so much more than the two words. In an instant, Pricilla knew she would never, ever, understand just who the seven teenagers really were.

He held her gaze for a few more moments, his brown eyes lingering. Outside, a soft feminine voice called "_Jay_!" In a moment, he was gone, and Pricilla was left alone in the empty classroom.

She packed away her things in a state of reticent reflection. What she would give to _know_! What any teacher at New Olympia High would give to know the secrets of the secretive.

Somewhere, deep in her mind, she knew of the consequences of knowing more. And, in this pocket of her thoughts, she accepted that, even though she'd be curious forever, it was simply best if she didn't.

In the meantime, she had homework to mark.


	31. Breakeven

A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, not really all that long, but a significant gap nevertheless. To make it up to you guys, I've got a special treat. Well, three. Yep, that's right, three new drabbles. Hurrah!

This first one is based on the song _Breakeven _by the Script. I've done songfics before, but I wanted to go a little bit further. Each of these little parts of the drabble alternate between 100 words and 200 words long, and I've tweaked the lyrics just a bit to make them correspond with the story.

A bit of background; I've always been a huge fan of The Script. The way they capture pure, raw emotion in their lyrics is absolutely beautiful. I hope I've done them justice.

This is entirely Jay's story, set in one of my many alternate universes that exist only in my head. In this, the events of Phantom Rising resulted in the death of one of the group, and this is how I believe Jay might have reacted. Don't hate me!

Oh, and dedications! A hurt Jay for my wonderful reviewer **Written Parody**. Also, many many thankyou's to the brilliance and sharp eyes of **Tinian I'att**, and to the encouraging words of my mystery viewer, known only as "**SteppingSideways**". Thank you.

* * *

Breakeven

_I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing_

_Just prayed to a God I don't believe in_

'_Cause I got time but you got freedom_

'_Cause when a heart breaks _

_It don't breakeven_

* * *

He struggled to stay upright, the blow still ringing in his ears. He swayed; his eyes unfocused. Everything seemed to slow down in that instant between being knocked and hitting the ground.

When he did hit the dirt, it wasn't as painful as he'd been expecting. It was seemingly soft; like his bed in the Brownstone.

He knew he should get up, but he'd forgotten why. There was no point to the confrontation; no explanation or reason. Attacking for the sake of attacking. He needed to feel something – something more than what he felt now.

Something other than a loss.

* * *

_Your best days are gonna be some of my worst_

_You finally met someone who's gonna put you first_

_While I'm wide awake you're no trouble sleeping_

'_Cause when a heart breaks _

_It don't breakeven_

* * *

"Come on, Jay. Where's the fight?"

Cronus laughed as the Leader pushed himself to his knees, blinking sweat out of his eyes. Or was it blood? He could not tell. He scrambled to reach for his sword, but the god kicked it away before he could grasp the hilt. Another blow hit him, sending him sprawling in the opposite direction of his weapon. It was well and truly out of his reach now; his last hope gone.

Once more, he groaned and panted; the effort to reach his knees akin to a marathon. He barely had the energy to suck air into his lungs, but he forced himself to look Cronus in the eye. He wanted that dignity.

A hand gripped his throat, choking him slowly. The black eyes were dancing with fire and rage... and victory. They both knew that Jay wasn't going to win this time.

"Given up so soon, Jay?" Cronus whispered; his composure wild and fanatical. "I didn't think you'd quit so quickly."

Yet Jay'd never quit during their skirmish; he'd given up long before he'd found Cronus. Ever since he ran out the door of the Brownstone, he knew he was seeking his own defeat.

* * *

_They say bad things happen for a reason_

_But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding_

'_Cause you moved on while I'm still grieving_

'_Cause when a heart breaks_

_It don't breakeven_

* * *

The hands disappeared.

Jay glared at the retreating god, a question formed in his aching mind. Cronus didn't need to hear the words; he chuckled as Jay cried out in anger.

"Dear boy, you're not dying today." His tone was indifferent; uncaring at the life of his nemesis. "Mind you, I will kill you one day."

With the last of his strength, Jay stood. His knees screamed in protest, and his feet felt as if they were burning in the flames of Tartarus. He took an uneasy step towards Cronus, nearly falling over in the process.

"Then kill me now."

* * *

_You took their heart and my heart and none of the pain_

_You took your suitcase and I took the blame_

_Now I'm trying to make sense of what little remains_

_Because you left me with no love and no love to my name_

* * *

"No."

"Why?"

The god laughed. "Why?" He shook his head in mock exasperation. "Because it's no fun beating you when you've already done it for me."

Jay stared at him. Cronus seemed to be growing in height. No; he was slipping back to his knees, back to the ground. Cronus was walking away, but he didn't have the will or energy to chase after him. His sword was cast away on the ground away from him; too far away from him.

The saddest thing was that Cronus was right. He'd already beaten himself; an action that had saved his life, and pained it further. Jay had lost more than the will to fight, and he didn't dare remember why.

To crawl towards his sword would be less painful, so he did.

The palms of his hands were quickly encased with a mixture of blood and dirt; they stung when he reached for a new handhold on the ground. His torso scrapped across the ground like sandpaper. Yet he pushed on, and the cool metal of the hilt of his sword found its way into his cut and bleeding hands.

Some said the pen is mightier than the sword.

Jay disagreed.

* * *

_Now what am I supposed to do_

_When the best part of me was always you_

_And what am I supposed to say_

_When I'm all choked up but you're okay_

* * *

The memories lingered on the back of his eyelids and the centre of his dreams. Whenever he closed his eyes, he'd see everything again.

He'd see them fight, a routine. He'd race past Atlanta, push Herry out of the way of a falling beast, call out to Archie, throw a spare weapon to Neil and help Odie. He'd yell out to _her_; scream at her to stop. He could see that she was hurting, but it was hard to tell who was in more pain; her or him.

_You don't have to do this, _he'd said. _Let me help you._

* * *

_I'm falling to pieces_

_I'm falling to pieces_

* * *

"_I can read your heart Jay. In your heart, this is what you wanted."_

Not like this.

Yet, it was what he had wanted. He had seen exactly what she was trying to do; what she was offering. And he wanted it. He'd never desired anything like it, when he first laid eyes on her. He'd never desire anything, or anyone, like he desired her. The way she captured his heart in a moment was so alluring to him, like a siren song.

That had been his downfall, and ultimately hers.

Power was a tricky thing; some could hold it, while some couldn't. Cronus was designed to be able to hold the power of the Olympian gods; to have the power and strength flow through his veins in the place of blood. Theresa, on the other hand, was not.

It was ironic that she would give her life for the sake of this power. Though she'd been unable to hold onto it, even in death, she'd managed to deal enough damage. Cronus had nowhere near the level of power he'd had before that day, and they'd gone as far to say he'd been defeated.

Cronus wasn't the only one defeated.

* * *

_One's still in love while the other one's leaving_

'_Cause when a heart breaks_

_It don't breakeven_

* * *

Heartbroken.

Atlanta had later described him in a whispered conversation with Archie as heartbroken; the way he'd cradled her lifeless body. That was the first time they'd ever seen him cry, and it would be the last time.

They'd stayed on the beach for hours. Even when Hera gently pried his hands from her, and teleported him back to New Olympia, his heart remained on the beach.

He'd reached a state of nothingness in the weeks that followed, and the rest of the group followed suit. They were grieving too, but none of them had lost what he had.

Love.

* * *

_I'm falling to pieces_

_I'm falling to pieces_

'_Cause when a heart breaks_

_It don't breakeven_


	32. Patience

A/N: Just a one hundred word drabble, something simple. At the same time, this was hard to write; sticking to a word limit is hard. But challenges are good. I like challenges!

Patience

For the fifth time in as many minutes, Neil stamped his foot impatiently as he waited for Theresa to finish her English homework.

Keeping her eyes to her book, his girlfriend chuckled mockingly. Nonetheless, he was rewarded with a swift peck on the lips, before Theresa returned to hastily scribbling her homework.

"Are you nearly done?" He whined, pulling up a chair beside her. She shook her head, pausing to stick her tongue out and chide him. "Chill, Neil. Patience is a virtue."

Neil, for his part, was content enough to imagine exactly what _he_ could do with _her_ virtue.


	33. Fifteen Years

A/N: Fifteen years on, are they still all going strong? This is my vision of their future.

Fifteen Years

"Ready to _jibe_, Tyler?"

The young boy looked at him with puzzled blue eyes. Jay sighed exasperatedly, pointing at the main boom. "That is going to swing across the boat very soon," he warned. "When I say, '_ready to jibe_', it means that you should probably not stand up."

Tyler nodded with fierce concentration, and sat immediately. Jay moved back to his position, calling out the warning again. A few seconds later, the massive main boom sail swept across the boat, and the two quickly began to adjust it to the new point of sail.

"Time to head home?" Jay asked wearily.

His young pupil sighed glumly. "I guess so."

They swapped positions now, with Jay keeping a watchful eye on the boy operating the sails. This was his fifth class, and though he was progressing steadily, he had the tendency to forget the simple instructions.

_He was a good kid though_, Jay reflected. _And he has his father's eyes._

Neil's eyes.

At least he didn't have the same temperament of the high-strung model. While Neil was snarky and arrogant, his son was timid and quiet. Then again, they both had incredible luck – the number of times the young kid had managed to keep his balance on higher seas had astounded Jay. Simple luck was one thing, but Tyler had clearly inherited his father's subtle power.

"Mr Jay, how long until we get back to shore?"

He peeled himself out of his thoughts, making a quick mental calculation. "About twenty minutes." He called. "Why? Need to be somewhere?"

Tyler shrugged. "Dad's got me booked in for _modelling classes_." He rolled his eyes with much disdain. "I mean, I know that he's a model and all, but..." He made an annoyed gestured. "_I_ don't want to be a _model_."

He was also as stubborn as his father; Jay chuckled at the thought.

"Maybe you should tell him that?"

Tyler shook his head. "I have! I said that modelling was _his _thing, and that I just wanted to do sailing."

"And what did he say to that?"

"That if I kept sailing, I'd end up being attacked by giants, fly on griffins and be drafted into saving the world." Tyler looked embarrassed, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Sometimes, I think Dad's a little _crazy_."

Jay laughed. "Don't we all?"

This brought a smile to the boy's face. He reminded Jay of the inquisitive nature and careful approach to life that Neil had, magnified. It seemed completely ironic that New Olympia's most successful male model had a son that '_didn't want to be a model_'.

If Jay had told this to Neil fifteen years ago, he would have been laughed at for sure.

* * *

Neil was waiting at for them at the jetty.

As Jay steered the small boat towards the ramp, he allowed a small grin on his face as he saw his old friend. Glancing at his pupil, he saw that Tyler had gone back to brooding – still bothered about the thought of modelling, no doubt.

When the boat was secured, the two made their way over to Neil. The former model – for he had retired at an old age of twenty-seven – still carried the pride and haughtiness that he had in his teenage years. His hair and skin was still immaculate, though lines had begun to show at the corners of his mouth. A hint of stubble showed across his jaw, and he'd long since swapped his black and white shirt for a suit. Designer, of course.

"Jay." He greeted his former Leader, and clasped his son's shoulder. "How did the lesson go? Did Tyler behave himself?"

"It went well." Jay replied, and gave him a quick rundown of the lesson. Tyler remained quiet, and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

Neil nodded constantly through Jay's speech, and broke out in a broad grin at the end. Jay gave him a perplexed look.

"You still give the same pep-talk speeches, you know. We all have a bet going that you'll give a pep-talk speech on your deathbed."

Jay smiled bemusedly. "Seriously?"

"Well, _I_ reckon, anyway."

"Maybe you should ask Theresa about that one."

Neil nodded, and made another smile. "Anyway, we'd best be off. Tyler's first class!" His smile broadened, while Tyler scowled.

Jay nodded. "I'll see you next week then." The two began to walk off, and he called out a fleeting farewell. "How is Theresa, by the way?"

"She's well." Neil called back. "Eleven years of being married and she's never been sick! Must be something from Archie, eh?"

Jay laughed to himself, and watched the two walk off the jetty and into the harbour, and then out of his sight. He dropped his head, lost in thoughts of the old times.

Fifteen years had gone too quickly. There'd been so much happen in all the time, and yet everything seemed such a short time ago. It was odd to think that it had been twelve years since Archie and Atlanta's wedding, eleven years since Odie's company moved to New York.

Even harder to comprehend was the whirlwind engagement between Neil and Theresa. Though he tried not to think on it if he could avoid it, Jay often wondered what might have happened if he'd played it differently. If he'd put more time into his relationship with Theresa than his sailing school. Would she still have broke it off with him and sought the attention she craved in Neil? Or would the marriage have been between him and her?

He'd have the rest of his life to wonder.


	34. Let's Dance To Joy Division

A/N: Hi there. Yes, _you_. We haven't spoken in a while, so here's a little drabble, just to let you all know I'm still here. Again, I've had another long absence without giving notice. I'm sorry, truly. You have no one to blame but the wonderful hindsight of English teachers. I just _love _getting homework constantly. Doing essays just makes my day. I can't stand having weekends free and afternoons off. *cough cough*.

This is based on a song; _Let's Dance To Joy Division_ by The Wombats, one of my favourite bands. It's a bit different to the previous chapter; a bit more lighthearted and bubbly. I mean, I don't _always_ write about lost love and heartbreak.

Now, I have a favour to ask. As these drabbles are soon going to be reaching the forty mark, I'm starting to run out of ideas. This is where you, the reader, comes in! If you could take the time to review, leave me an idea or two. It doesn't have to be anything major; I don't want a plot outline for an epic four part series! Just leave a key word or two, or perhaps a song or quote. If you do, I promise that I will use it for a chapter, and your name will appear at the top, and I will be forever grateful.

How's that for incentive, and who said my stories weren't reader friendly?

* * *

Let's Dance To Joy Division

_Let's dance to Joy Division  
__And celebrate the irony  
__Everything is going wrong  
__But we're so happy_

* * *

"Alright, Jay is on the dance floor!"

The post certain-death celebrations got into full swing after that. As the gang and the island dwellers partied on the beach, and the locals' preference of alcohol became readily on-hand, inhibitions and formalities were quickly disregarded.

Just after midnight, Jay pulled himself out from the dance floor. The dancing at escalated to a mosh pit some hours ago (he was certain Neil had something to do with it) and he'd been stuck in the middle of the horde with Herry for the past half hour. He needed a breather.

Spying Atlanta and Theresa sitting cross legged near the water's edge, he quickly moved to join them. He flopped down beside them with less grace than he'd expected, and made a mental note to stop accepting shots of the strange amber liquid the locals had been serving.

"You look like you've just faced a Hydra!" Theresa remarked, before pulling him in quick hug. She recoiled quickly, her noise crinkled. "And you smell like Herry's armpits."

The girls giggled; he laughed bashfully. "You have no idea." He retorted caustically.

They sat on the beach, laughing and chatting about the events of the previous day.

"The look on Neil's face when we were tying him up!" Atlanta laughed, holding her ribcage. "It was the funniest thing. Like, _ever_." She and Theresa both burst into laughter.

Jay rolled his eyes. He hadn't suspected it until now, but he was sure that he wasn't the only one that needed to stop drinking the local alcohol.

Atlanta pushed herself up onto her feet, a wicked grin on her face. "Let's go for a swim!" she exclaimed, teetering towards the water. Jay stood uncertainly, pulling Theresa to her feet.

"We don't have swimmers!" He called after the younger girl.

She turned back to look at the Leader, a coy smile on her face. "Who said anything about swimmers?"

Jay flushed, and hurriedly turned to Theresa. "Go stop her!" He urged, not wishing to get near a drunken Atlanta with... ideas.

Theresa snorted. "She'll be alright, look." She pointed to a purple-haired shadow approaching the girl now, steering her quickly away from the water. They both laughed as Atlanta's struggles pushed Archie into the water, with Atlanta flopping over ungracefully.

"That's them sorted out," Jay murmured, wondering if the others also needed rounding up. He hadn't seen Odie or Neil for a while, and Herry probably needed to be forcibly removed from the mosh pit before he trampled someone...

"Relax, Jay." A small hand slid into his, and he realized Theresa had ducked under his arm in the hope of a hug. He pulled her in, unsure of what to do next.

She glanced up at him, her green eyes sparkling. "You're stressing, Jay. Have a night off."

"Stressing? Me?" Yet the thought of a night off appealed to his tired mind, and he allowed her to pull him back for a huddled embrace on the sand.

They sat close, one of his arms around her shoulder, their free hands entwined. Neither dared to speak, not even when her head came to rest on his shoulder, or when he made small circles on the palm of her hand with his thumb.

He knew that he should get up and look for the rest of the gang, but he'd regret it later on. This was the closest that he and Theresa had been in months. Not that they were together; far from it, with the constant threat of Cronus or some other monster of ancient Greek origin. But he would be lying to say he didn't enjoy the pretty psychic's company. If he stopped and really thought about it, he knew he'd come to the conclusion, he'd probably realize he liked her. A lot.

Would he stop and think about it? No. Not with the way things were. Maybe when the danger passed and Cronus was just a memory. Until then, he would have to enjoy fleeting moments and quiet embraces.

In the meantime, he was going to find out just exactly what a 'night off' entailed.


	35. Flaws

A/N: This one is brought to you by inspiration from **Written Parody. **Again, I am so, so happy that you take the time to read all of my chapters, and then to write me such wonderful reviews. It's so good to know that people are reading my story, and that they like it.

The idea of 'Flaws' brings to mind Neil, for some reason or other. I just love writing about Neil; he's so simple, yet so complicated at the same time. I've always felt that there's layers upon layers that make up Neil, and he hides behind his flawless outer shell.

* * *

Flaws

Neil examined himself in his floor length mirror meticulously, checking every inch of skin on his face for blemishes. As he did every morning, he found none. Yet this did not deter him; the second an improbable blemish showed up on his skin, he would be ready and waiting with concealer and moisturiser.

Not that he ever expected his skin to be anything less than flawless. His ancestry had never failed him in that department. It was a force of habit that his daily routines were never neglected or overlooked.

The others criticised him for his vanity, but Neil had tougher skin than that. Four layers of moisturiser had that effect. The insults and jabs bounced off him.

Not that he didn't feel the constant jibes from his friends. Every now and then, one comment would sink through the layers of products and strike him. _Neil, no one cares what you have to say. The only person Neil cares about is Neil. What kind of a hero are you supposed to be?_

Try as he may, Neil couldn't always let the nastier criticisms go. He could only continue to cover himself in his beauty products, layer upon layer. He could continue to hide behind his mask, so long as he believed he was flawless.


	36. Invincible

A/N: This one is also from a word of inspiration from **Written Parody**. Again, the word prompt made me instantly think of a character, that being Jay. An obvious choice, no doubt, but there's so many ways that Jay is both invincible and extremely vulnerable. I hope I've captured this well.

* * *

Invincible

Jay crashed through the wooden fence with the force of a stampeding elephant, and the grace of a drunken sloth. The palings snapped and splintered, along with three of the bones in his right hand as he flung it out for support.

He gasped as the pain shot through his hand; up is arm in stabbing flashes. It wasn't the worse injury he'd had, but it was enough to be considered bad. Very bad. His right arm was his sword arm. The broken bones were just as crippling as a broken leg or arm.

In front of him, the sound of the melee continued. His short flight through the air curtesy of Agnon went ignored as his team continued to fight. Archie and Atlanta had already taken down one of the giants, and Herry was in the process of finishing off another. Theresa and Neil had taken over his position against Agnon, and he watched them hurtle away as the giant swept them away in one blow of his colossal arms. They both got up, a little shaken, but ready to continue the fight.

He'd always said to them; _if you get hurt really badly, stay down. _Of course, they'd never followed that advice. If anyone got hurt in a fight, they'd get up and keep going.

With a small groan, he pushed himself to his feet, using his left arm to propel himself out of the wreckage of the fence. He found his sword, swinging it in his left hand. The movement did not feel uncomfortable, but was unknown to him. Still, he could learn as he went. He stumbled back into the fight, ready to fight again.

Jay was not invincible, but, for now, he would act like he was.


	37. Rejection and Revenge

A/N: This one originally started out as two shorter drabbles, but then morphed into one. Spontaneously!

In other news... close to 100 reviews! I'm really excited, and thankful to everyone that reviews! When we finally get there, many thanks will occur in this space.

Anyway, just a 500 word drabble about what happens when Neil gets rejected, and Herry and Odie are playing tricks.

* * *

Rejection and Revenge

Rejection stung with a sharp crack of a coiled tea towel.

"Gotcha- wait, sorry Neil!"

Herry lowered his poised weapon as his team mate rubbed his sore behind, then bent over to pick up the sealed envelope he'd dropped in shock of the surprise attack. Apologetically, he awkwardly clasped the model's shoulder, a gesture that made the blonde flinch wildly.

"What the hell was that for?" Neil asked after a moment, retreating a few steps from the door of the kitchen. He watched warily as Herry folded the tea towel and placed it on the kitchen sink.

Herry shrugged. "I thought you were Odie," he replied simply. "Sorry."

He was, of course, referring to the current pranking feud between himself and the team's resident genius. The two had reached the stage of friendship where a well-placed bucket of water or a flour bomb had replaced normal means of conversation.

Needless to say, most of the team was getting fed up with the constant pranking. Jay had been doused in water the week previously, and Archie had found a live beetle in his sandwich.

"Well, make sure it's him next time!" Neil retorted irritably, leaving the kitchen, keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder. He did not stop until he'd reached his room and locked the door shut. He flung his envelope on his bed and headed to his bathroom.

After a long shower, the kind that made the hot water sink into his skin and wash out all the awful memories of the day, he dressed and flopped onto his bed.

The envelope rested next to his head, sealed shut. It could stay there until his skin wrinkled and his hair thinned and fell out for all he cared. Neil knew the content of the letter inside, even if he'd personally never read a letter of rejection.

_Dear Neil_, he imagined it would say, _we are sorry to inform you that your application to New Olympia Modelling Agency has been rejected. The hours that you are available to work are too vague for our photographers to work with, and the Agency would recommend that you develop a more rigid schedule upon further application. Please have our condolences. _

Neil had a few witty retorts for the Agency, namely where exactly they could shove their _condolences_, but he knew it wasn't their fault that his weekly schedule could not be written down and worked with. His commitments to the team took priority, no matter how much he wanted a contract to New Olympia's only decent modelling agency.

Maybe, it was best that he stayed a free lancer. That way, the only rejection he could suffer then was from him, and why would he ever say no to a face like his? Not a blemish in sight, and not a single dyed hair.

With a sigh, he discarded the envelope and stood up. Making his way to the door, he realized with a wicked grin that he owed Herry a little revenge…


	38. Must Get Out

A/N: This one's gone up a little ahead of schedule, mainly in celebration! Yep, that's right, a historical landmark - **100 reviews**! I cannot express how stoked I am, so thank you thank you thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. It really tickles me pink to read such wonderful words from readers, especially the likes of **Written Parody**, my one hundredth reviewer!

This one is split into seven parts, each one hundred words. It's based on lyrics from the song _Must Get Out_ by Maroon 5, a wonderful source of inspiration. This follows our seven heroes through the day, and I really hope you guys like it. I do.

Once again, thank you for the amazing reviews. One hundred! I can't believe it!

This one's for you, **Written Parody**.

* * *

Must Get Out

_This city's made us crazy  
__And we must get out_

* * *

Summer mornings in New Olympia were red skies and sea breeze.

As per usual, Jay was not looking out his window at the spectacular morning. Instead, the young Greek descendant was seated at his desk, pouring over an ageing Ancient Greek manuscript.

The document highlighted the battle between his ancestor and the dragon guarding the Golden Fleece. To anyone else, the old script would have been tiresome and difficult to read, but Jay loved the Greek poetry.

The morning continued to flow; the red sun ebbed its way across the sky, and a young Greek descendant barely noticed its presence.

* * *

Mid mornings in New Olympia were the smell of breakfast and a glass of orange juice.

Herry was the first to rise that morning. He stumbled into the kitchen with practised precision. He tumbled into a seat near the kitchen bench, and was rewarded to a plate of eggs and bacon, curtesy of Athena.

The goddess smiled at the hungry teen, watching as he eagerly shovelled the food into his mouth. Of all the descendants, Herry was her favourite – though she'd never say.

She poured him a glass of orange juice, and continued to cook for the ever-hungry boy.

* * *

Midday in New Olympia was bright yellow sunshine and the comfort of relaxation.

Neil sighed with the utter most contentment as he sipped a glass of lemonade on the Brownstone's roof terrace. Saturdays such as these were one of the few times he could really relax – every other weekend they were chasing down some monster or doing homework. Today, however, Cronus was mercifully nowhere to be seen, and the constant flow of homework had mysteriously ceased.

In other words, the day was just about perfect.

Neil smiled, and continued to soak the wonderful yellow rays of the midday sun.

* * *

Early afternoons in New Olympia were green grass and emerald leaves of the park.

Peaceful, tranquil and serene were not often words associated with Atlanta; she even protested the use of 'chilled' to describe her. Atlanta's life was spent between periods of irritation and anger. Occasionally, she wasn't – hence, an afternoon at her favourite spot at the park.

Lying on shaded grass, she could pretend she was away from the city. She could be calm, cool, collected Atlanta, not the feisty, irritable, energetic heroine she had to be away from the comfort of the green tranquillity of the grass.

* * *

Late afternoons in New Olympia were blue screens of doom and mouse clicks.

Odie typed furiously across the keyboard, his fingers flying. Fiddling with technology was a serious business, a practise perfected by only the best. To some, technology was just a simpler way to life. To Odie, his gadgets were living, breathing creatures, and when one of them got hurt, he would comfort them like a friend.

Currently, Hermes' laptop was stuck on a blue screen, the computer equivalent of an infection. It was up to him to be the doctor, to fix up his sick patient, his friend.

* * *

Evenings in New Olympia were quiet embraces in indigo moonlight.

Theresa sat on her bed, her knees drawn up to her chin. The window was open, and a warm summer breeze drifted through her room. Indigo light spilled through, illuminating the walls in a soft, purple glow.

There was a knock on the door, and a tousle haired Jay strode through. He didn't speak as he crossed the floor, slumping beside her. With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder, then jumping at the sound of his beeping PMR.

The time they had together was never quite enough.

* * *

Nights in New Olympia were locked doors and bottles of violet hair dye.

Archie gazed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, feeling somewhat sheepish. The bottle of hair dye glared viciously at him, mocking him from the windowsill.

His hair was due for another redye, the black roots were starting to show, but he often wondered how the team might react if he went back to his natural colour. Violet made him look tougher; it had a sense of streetwise edginess. Black was boring and vulnerable.

He grabbed the bottle of violet hair dye and headed for the shower.


	39. Little Things

A/N: I wrote this two hundred word drabble _ages_ ago and completely forgot about it. So, sorry about that, here you go.

* * *

Little Things

There was a lot that you could tell about a person from their sparring. That was the message that Theresa's martial arts Sensei had drilled into her from the minute she's stepped into the dojo. _Study your opponent carefully. Only then can you truly master yourself._

So she studied. A lot. By the time she was ten years old, she could recognise aspects of her fellow students' sparring that would gain her the advantage immediately, a skill that would normally take years and years to master. It was the little faults that she picked up on, little habits that she worked on. Bad stances, jabs that were slightly too far outstretched, a spinning kick aimed just a bit too high.

Just four years after walking through the door, she'd achieved a black belt.

Now, four years on, that same message still applied. And it was the same, tiny faults and habits that she saw. Herry's habit of ducking to the left. Archie's susceptibility towards bladed attacks. Atlanta's inability to focus. Odie's physical weakness. Neil's poor commitment to training of any kind. Jay's fractional hesitation when sparring with her.

It was the small faults, the little things that let them down.


	40. The Scientist

A/N: Chapter forty! How on earth did I get myself here?

This song is a beautiful source of inspiration from Coldplay. In my mind, _The Scientist_ has always described Odie, for obvious reasons. But the song goes beyond the title, so I hope this does enough to explain why I think it describes Odie; more than my failure in this space. I'll stop now.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews. Please continue. Chapters keep going up when reviews get submitted. They stop when you guys do.

* * *

The Scientist

_I was just guessing at numbers and figures  
__Pulling the puzzles apart  
__Questions of science, science and progress  
__Do not speak as loud as my heart_

* * *

With a questioning mind such as his, Odie would have found it relatively easy to find a niche in most of the world's top universities from an early age of sixteen. Indeed, under an assumed name and age, he'd been accepted into places such as Harvard and Oxford, but someone else would fill the positions.

He had his own place, where he needed no invitation or acceptance. His friends at New Olympia were whom he belonged with, and nothing would change that – or, so he thought.

Things had changed, and now they were leaving. With Cronus gone, their usefulness had terminated, and now they were leaving. His bedroom in the basement was empty; cardboard boxes filled with his technology and possessions had already been delivered back home. His moped was ready, waiting for him outside.

Times were moving on, and now they were leaving.

* * *

_But tell me you love me, come back to haunt me  
__Oh and I rush to the start  
__Running in circles, chasing our tails  
__Coming back as we are_

* * *

Giving the Brownstone one last glance, he slipped his helmet over his head, his curls cushioning the hard plastic softly on his head. The others had already gone the previous day; his flight home left a day after the rest.

He sat on his bike, eyes downcast. He felt he should have something to show for the two years they'd been a part of each others' lives – something more than the fading pink scars caressing his body.

A sharp pain hit him; he stood. From his back pocket he drew a little device, roughly the same shape as a mobile phone. The little PMR was his design, of course; a genius of modern technology that would never work its way onto the market.

It was much, but not enough. He'd been stupid to think that his life in New Olympia was forever; the very essence of the life they'd lead was temporary. A quick-fix solution. They'd succeeded, and now they were leaving.

He threw his PMR onto the road, watching as it was flattened in the peak of the morning traffic, and sped off towards the airport.

* * *

_Nobody said it was easy  
__Oh, it's such a shame for us to part  
__Nobody said it was easy  
__No one ever said it would be so hard  
__I'm going back to the start_


	41. Glass

A/N: Just a quick two hundred word drabble. I realized I've been neglecting some characters, my apologies to the likes of Archie, Atlanta and Herry. I'll do my best to make up for it!

This one is Archie centric... well, you can read it to find out what its about.

Thank you so much to my reviewers; **HoneyGoddess57, Toymaker, WhereDidYouGo, Tinian I'att** and the mysterious **SteppingSideways. **(Yes, I know there's one other wonderful reviewer, but refer back to multiple chapters, and probably this one now, and they'll get a mention... **Written Parody**)

Thanks guys, here's chapter 41.

* * *

Glass

In Archie's mind, people were either made of diamond or glass.

To be made of diamond was to be the best you could be; unbreakable, invulnerable, precious. The people made of diamond were those that he looked up to; people he could only dream of becoming.

Those made of glass were weaker. They appeared strong, but shattered upon impact. Glass people were breakable, vulnerable and transparent. Every weakness was clearly visible; every crack.

When he came to New Olympia, he quickly categorised his six teammates as being glass. But, as he got to know them and understand them, he realized that there was more to them than what they let on. Their weaknesses were also their strengths. Jay's obsession was unmatchable determination, Odie's slight build was made up for by his strength of mind, Herry's moments of rage stemmed from his gentle nature, Theresa's dramatisation came from concern for their safety, and Neil's narcissism was only skin deep.

Atlanta's constant jibes showed the mutual understanding and respect they had for each other.

It was from this realization that Archie changed his mind. The team were not as easily broken as he thought. Inside each of them was a diamond.


	42. Conflict

A/N: Oh Neil. I hate writing him to be such a pretty boy, but this one just had to be written.

The idea for this came from one of my trawls through Brad Goodchild's blog. There's so many of the backgrounds from the show on there, including Neil's bedroom. The mirror stood out to me, and therefore; this. Pay attention to it, as it may resurface in future chapters.

* * *

Conflict

As much as Neil detested the constant battles and fights the team was involved in, he faced many a conflict each day.

In front of his largest bedroom mirror, then later his smaller bathroom mirror, he'd try on a dozen shirt and trouser combinations, various hats and shoes, watches, scarves (how he loved scarves!), bags and other bits and pieces. Every morning, without fail, he'd revert to his usual combination of white on black; his trademark combination. Designer, of course.

Neil wasn't afraid to be adventurous, fashion-wise anyway, but in times of conflict, he'd rather miss it altogether.


	43. Change

A/N: Thank you so much to **Written Parody **for the wonderful editing!

Enjoy the return of Neil's mirror, and some quality Herry/Odie friendship.

* * *

Change

A high-pitched, girly scream pierced the walls of the Brownstone.

Seconds later, Neil thundered down the stairs, bursting into the living room. Jay, Archie and Atlanta didn't bother looking up from the TV, which was currently showing a movie about Achilles.

"My mirror is gone!" Neil screeched, waving his hands like a madman. "Someone's taken it!"

Her back safely turned away from the frantic model, Atlanta rolled her eyes. "Relax Neil. Is it still in your pocket?"

The blonde made a frustrated sound. "Not _that_ mirror." From his pocket he withdrew his gold hand-held mirror, shaking it in front of the warrior. Atlanta knocked it away, and was greatly satisfied to see her smudged fingerprints across the usually flawless reflection. "See? I meant my big mirror, the one in my room. It's gone!"

"Maybe you misplaced it?" Archie offered, grinning.

"I can't misplace a giant mirror, you moron! Someone's taken it!"

Archie rolled his eyes too, focusing back on the TV. Seeing the purple-haired _moron_ ignore his frantic cries, Neil turned the leader. "Jay! Do something!"

Jay sighed exasperatedly. "Neil, someone may have just taken it to play a prank. Just wait for a bit and it will show up."

Neil's bottom lip wobbled slightly. "But I want it _now_,Jay!"

The leader smiled encouragingly. "I know. But trust me, the best thing to do is to wait. Just relax. Do you want to watch this movie with us? The historic accuracy's rubbish, but the effects are pretty cool."

"I don't want to watch some stupid movie, I want my mirror back!"

"_Neil_."

"_Fine_." Neil ceased to whine as a plan formulated in his head. "Fine. I didn't want to do this, Jay, but you leave me no choice."

He strode into the kitchen, disappearing out of sight from Jay and a now very amused Archie and Atlanta. He returned promptly, dragging a protesting Theresa with him.

"Tell Jay to get my mirror back!" he commanded the spluttering girl, jabbing a finger at their leader.

Theresa frowned indignantly. "Can't you ask him yourself?"

"I have! Besides, he can't say no to _you_."

Jay turned a lovely shade of deep red as Atlanta and Archie doubled up with laughter. He shot them menacing glares, and all eyes focused back on Neil, who was locked in a fierce stare-off with Theresa.

"Please?" the blonde asked, pouting slightly. "_Please_ Theresa?"

Theresa broke off the battle; Neil's puppy eyes were unmatchable. She glanced at Jay, shrugging indifferently.

"Jay, could you _please_ help Neil find his mirror?" She batted her eyelashes mockingly, and then shot Neil an irritated look. "Happy?"

The model clapped his hands together, squealing in excitement. "Thank you, thank you! We'll go shopping tomorrow; my treat!"

She rolled her eyes. "We were planning to anyway, but thanks." She glanced back at Jay. "You'd better help him," she muttered. "I have homework to do, so please don't interrupt me again, okay?"

Theresa exited back into the kitchen as Neil flounced his way to Jay. Dragging the boy to his feet, he practically bounced with joy.

"I can't wait to get my mirror back!" he said chattily. "I miss it _so_ much; I have a new scarf to try on! Did you know I have twenty-three different scarves? I just _love_ scarves!"

Jay did his best to nod convincingly as they climbed the stairs leading to the bedrooms. He had a feeling that the mirror was going to be rather difficult to find, assuming that he was correct and someone had just "borrowed" it for a laugh.

* * *

Odie flexed experimentally in front of the "borrowed" mirror, wishing that the grand reflection would somehow magically enhance his puny muscles.

"Herry, do you think there's any chance I can get as buff as you?"

The brawny teen shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, if we put you on an athlete's diet, and got an exercise routine happening regularly… sure, I guess so."

Odie smiled hopefully. "And how long will that take to give me some serious biceps?"

Herry did a quick calculation on his fingers. "Uh… a year? Maybe a little more. Depends on how your body goes at carb loading."

The smaller boy's hope deflated like a burst balloon. "A year?" he cried. "What use is that? I could be back at home in a year… or dead!"

Herry made a dismissive gesture. "Personally, I don't think you need big muscles. You've already got one that's pretty inflated." He rapped his knuckles on his friend's head for good measure, quickly withdrawing as Odie protested.

"The brain is not a muscle, Herry!"

"I know that. Maybe I didn't mean your brain."

Odie narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're acting rather… odd. Since when did you pay attention in Biology?"

He shrugged. "I borrowed a few of your books a while ago to study for a test, and maybe I've just remembered some stuff from it." He looked away quickly, in fear of Odie's mocking. "Just because all you guys think I'm stupid doesn't mean I am. I mean, I'm not exactly the smartest, but I can change. I have."

Odie kicked himself internally. He felt like the worst best friend in the world. Lately, he'd been so focused on himself and his own vanity that he'd neglected to notice Herry's troubles.

"You know," he began slowly, "if you ever want a study partner, I'm available."

Herry turned back around, a bright smile growing on his face. "Really? I mean… I could help you lift weights and stuff. Whenever you want, I'm free."

The two friends smiled at each other. Of all the heroes, the two of them shared the closest friendship. In a way, they were two sides of the same coin; complimenting each other perfectly. Now, it seemed, their individual traits were starting to rub off on each other. They were both changing, for the better, something only true friendship could bring about.

They could both help each other to change.


	44. Routine

A/N: Again, another Neil drabble. He's so cute, how can I not write about him?

Thank you to **Written Parody**. Again, I do not deserve such wonderful reviews AND proof reading. I really really appreciate the help, though!

* * *

Routine

If there was one thing Neil could do to protect himself from the battle scars and wounds that his team mates were constantly inflicted with, it was to preserve his precious routines.

Every morning began at nine with a shower (shampoo plus conditioning every second day), followed by pore treatment (and a facial mask once a week) and concluding with morning moisturising. In between his classes at school he'd escape into the bathroom and reapply, and he'd do so again immediately after arriving back at the dorm. Afternoons were spent on the rooftop terrace during summer (soaking up those wonderful tanning rays) and in the mall during winter (because no day was complete without a new purchase to show for it). Every night ended with a bath (twenty-five minutes in length, not a minute longer), long enough for the hot water to seep into his skin and flush out all the worries and stress of the previous day. Followed up by a final moisturising and nail filing, he'd climb into his bed and sleep (on his front, eliminating the worst of bed hair).

Other routines were just as valuable. Complaining about training mostly allowed him to avoid the worst of the gruelling drills, and therefore he found himself completing this routine frequently. Accompanying Theresa to the mall earned him the only close friendship he'd ever had; the routine had become more of hobby, as such.

Some routines he'd had to unlearn. Constantly critiquing Herry's lack of style always resulted in unwanted contact between himself and a flying fist. Playing on Archie's aquaphobia also resulted in a similarly unnecessary cuff. Always acting like a self-centred, egotistical narcissist only drove annoying people and monsters such as Echo, Gorgons, Stymphalian Birds, Cassie and, of course, Cronus, further and further away.

Luckily, he'd been able to perfect that routine in detail.


	45. Jobs

A/N: It's been a while since an update, hasn't it? You know why? Not many reviews on the last two chapters, thats why! Come on guys, I'm self conscious, fickle and I live to hear people singing praises for me.

Not really, but I do like reviews.

This chapter isn't really much, just popped into my head. I haven't written much about the gods, so here you go.

* * *

Jobs

Athena was fuming.

Hera sat patiently behind her desk, absentmindedly stroking her favourite peacock as the goddess of wisdom _politely _explained why she shouldn't be given the job she had been assigned.

Since the Oracle had made the prophecy, Hera had taken extra precautions to ensure the safety of the new heroes, once they were finally located and brought to them. Moving the entire assembly of Olympian gods was no minor feat. Getting them into teaching jobs was harder. Dionysus had already filed three complains to her this morning.

She'd known that some of her brethren wouldn't approve of the transition, but it was her authority that counted. If Athena was going to challenge that authority – well, they all knew that she didn't like opposition. Just look at the incident with Lamia…

Deciding that Athena'd had enough of a rant, she cleared her throat, eyeing the goddess with mild irritation. "Are you finished?" She asked curtly.

Athena glared. "No! I want to know why you haven't assigned this job to Hestia. This should be _her_ job, not mine!"

"Hestia is currently working on making this place," she gestured vaguely to the room around them, "the new Olympus. We do have to have a roof above our heads, you know."

Athena snorted. "Some of us can cope quite well in any situation, you know."

Hera beamed; Athena had fallen into the trap. "Oh really?" she begun. "In that case, I'm sure you'll be fine at looking after the children. You can cope in _any situation_, after all."

The younger goddess' brows met; it took all her self-control to not unsheathe her weapon and slicing Hera's desk in two. In a huff, she folded her arms across her chest. "Fine. When are the little brats getting here?"

"I've already sent Hermes to collect them."

"Then I'll go to their dorm and meet them there." She moved to the doorway, wondering if Hera would get too angry if she sliced the little heroes up like toast. Her choice of weapon would do the job quite neatly; she made a mental note to try out her makhaira at breakfast.

Those heroes sure would be in for more than one surprise when they finally arrived…


	46. Television

A/N: Another little wait for this chapter, meh. Oh, thanks for the reviews guys! 135, last time I looked. I'm pretty stoked, so keep it up.

* * *

Television

It all started with the purchase of a decently sized flat screen TV. The seven teenagers gathered to watch as Athena carefully unwrapped the ungodly proportioned screen, woo-ing and ah-ing as Odie fiddled with the plugs and buttons. It winked to life after a few moments, the blank screen filling with colour.

In an instant, it all turned to chaos.

"We're watching Zombie Slayer 2!"

"I want to watch The Hulk!"

"No way, Doctor Who is on!"

"Mortals shows are boring. Can't we watch something Greek?"

"_Please_, Next Top Model is coming on!"

"Can we watch Ghost Whisperer? Please?"

Eventually agreeing to a compromise, the team and Athena settled down to watch a cartoon. Flipping through the channels, they found a show that caught everyone's eye. A brown haired boy led his friends in battle against an avenging god. The seven young protagonists fought their way through the challenges thrown up by the god's wrath, learning all they could about the new world they'd joined.

After twenty minutes of the uncomfortably familiar cartoon, Jay flicked the TV off and declared it was dinnertime.


	47. Sometimes

A/N: Bit of a wait… sorry. You guys should know by now that that's how I roll. Sometimes you'll wait a day… sometimes a lot longer.

Sometimes I'll write chapters with obscure titles. Sometimes I'll hint at it in this my note. Sometimes… it's getting old, isn't it?

Thank you to reviews!

Sometimes

Sometimes, after a long, tiresome day – the kind that made the rest of the team fall asleep in Herry's truck on the way back from the school – Jay would ignore the overwhelming desire to crawl into bed, and head up to the rooftop terrace.

He'd sit on the edge of the room, tanned legs dangling precariously over the side of the building and watch the stars. He'd count the constellations – Gemini, Orion, Pisces, Cygnus, Andromeda. He'd grown up with them; he could point out the Big Dipper before he'd learnt to write.

When he did learn to write, he'd put pen to paper and write about the stories his mother told him. How Artemis placed her beloved Orion in the stars, so she could always see him, even in death. How Bellerophon fell off the winged horse Pegasus as they soared towards Mt Olympus. How Pollux couldn't bear a life without his twin brother, and gave Castor half his immortality becoming two brightest stars of Gemini.

Sometimes, after the busy bustle of the city below had softened, Jay would wish he could have lived at the time of the heroes – he yearned for the glory and fame of his role models. He wanted to achieve what they had done, and the reward for their selflessness. In his mind, a true hero became a star, in every sense of the word.

Maybe, one day, when he'd achieved his defining heroic action of defeating Cronus, he would be placed in the stars. Maybe the others would too. They, like Castor and Pollux, could spend the rest of eternity together with the rest of the heroes.

Sometimes, after his teammates had long since fallen asleep, Jay would wonder if that day would ever come.


	48. Always

A/N: Just a bit of a continuation of the previous chapter; who loves repetition? I do! Who loves Neil? Neill (and me)!

But seriously…. Reviews. Please. I like them. You like these drabbles? Review! Tell me what you think, please. 150 is coming up, I'd really like that before Chapter 50. Can we manage that?

Always

Neil lived by rules; rules that went along the lines of _always check the hair_ and _always have a perfect smile_.

Failure to comply with his rules was not an option; he always followed them, down to the last minuscule detail of his elaborately constructed daily hair care.

_Always look the best_ wasn't just a sometimes or occasional rule. None of them were. Each had a specific purpose, and must be followed. Always.

In Neil's mind, rule breaking was sacrilege. The end of the world would sooner come than the day he had a single hair out of place. That was why he always, always strived to have an immaculate appearance. Always.


	49. Maybe

A/N: One chapter away from 50! Because I'm a maths whiz, that makes this… chapter 49, also known as _Maybe._

Thank you for the great response I got to the previous chapters, so I'm updating a little earlier than anticipated. And, another surprise; it's an Archie and Atlanta! Who knew I had it in me?

Maybe I aught to write these more? Maybe you should let me know? Review! There's most likely a dedication and/or a granted request for the 150th review. Like, if you're dying for a specific theme or story, your wish will be granted.

Anyway, here's the chapter!

Maybe

_Maybe Archie was dreaming, but he could have sworn that Atlanta said yes. _

"What?" He stuttered, knowing that he looked like a gasping fish. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Atlanta stuck her tongue out at him childishly. "_Yes_," she repeated teasingly. "I'd like to come to the movies with you. Beats sitting around here all day."

Archie, flabbergasted, allowed her to drag him in tow, out the door and into the street. Once he'd regained a conscious control of his feet, he strode beside the shorter redheaded girl.

It'd only been a few weeks in New Olympia – only a few weeks since his entire knowledge of _everything _had gone out the window – and this was the first time that he'd actually plucked up the courage to ask the small huntress out. Maybe he'd been so caught up with adjusting to his new life, but Archie couldn't find a reason as to why he'd been so afraid of asking Atlanta out before this. He was a warrior, after all – fearlessness and rash decisions came hand in hand with the job.

Maybe he'd found something that truly terrified him?

"So what movie are we going to see, anyway?" Atlanta asked as they reached the cinema. "If it's a romcom, I'll kill you."

He tried not to dwell on her jovial banter; he knew full well that she was more than capable. "Uh, I was thinking… um…."

They settled on an action thriller, and he handed over money at the ticket counter with slight unease. Atlanta bought the popcorn; they took their seats. The movie started; all eyes fixed on the big screen. All except Archie, who stared at Atlanta's outstretched hand, resting upwards on the armrest.

Maybe he should have concentrated on the movie, but Archie couldn't stop thinking of what would happen if he'd held her hand. The fear of the unknown gripped him again; a vice hold that nagged at him in the back of his mind. _Go on_, he thought, _you can do it_. Could he? Maybe Atlanta would just kill him anyway.

Or maybe she'd shrug out of it, give him an odd look and ignore him for the rest of the week?

Or maybe she'd move her hand before he could reach out with his?

Or maybe she'd shake her head, mouth the word _no_, and look away?

Maybe he'd never know, unless he tried?

Well aware that he was trembling, and Atlanta was fiercely engrossed in the movie, he reached out with his hand towards hers. His skin brushed against hers; she jumped slightly. Turning to stare at him, her hazel eyes were wide… and uncertain?

His hand rested on top of hers awkwardly, until she slowly interlaced her fingers with his. A small, exuberant smile crept onto his face; he squeezed her hand lightly and turned back to watch the movie.

_Maybe Archie was dreaming, but he could have sworn that Atlanta squeezed his hand back. _


	50. Wish

I've been trying to figure out what to write for my fiftieth chapter - after all, this is kind of a milestone, and I wanted it to be special. I kept putting it aside, and writing little drabbles that I told myself weren't worthy of being THE chapter. And then I realized that it didn't matter. Fifty is just another number, and while not everything I write is good, I'd like to think that any one of the chapters published would suffice for this milestone.

So, here's chapter fifty.

Wish

_Make a wish, Jay, make a wish._

* * *

New Year's Eve at the Brownstone was spent like all other important nights; on the rooftop terrace.

Theresa and Neil had spent the afternoon relocating Christmas lights from inside the dorm and transferred them to the railings, adding banners and balloons orderly. The others had contributed with varying levels of productivity. Herry baked an enormous cake (which he promptly devoured in five mouthfuls), Atlanta brought drinks, Odie supplied music. Archie made his appearance just as Theresa and Neil were making the final touches to the decorations, grumbling at the excessive electricity.

And Jay? Jay sat in his room, pouring over his collection of ancient Greek manuscripts.

Theresa knocked on his door at 11.30, peering her head through the doorway. "Are you joining us soon, Jay?"

He met her eyes, noticing the sparkly eye shadow that those brilliant emerald eyes, and the matching nail polish on the fingers that gripped his door. Theresa rarely wore makeup – she was one of those girls that had no need for cosmetics. Not like Atlanta, who detested the thought of girly vices; Theresa was simply comfortable in her own skin. It was one of the things that made the pretty redhead linger in Jay's mind for far longer than he dared to admit.

He'd made up his mind earlier to finish his work, and yet… the sparkly eye shadow and nails, and the way she bit her bottom lip as she anxiously awaited his answer… Jay realized he wanted nothing more than to join the party.

"Sure," he murmured, rolling his scrolls. "Lead the way."

Up on the rooftop, the gang were waiting patiently for Jay's arrival. Herry slapped him on the back, sending him staggering a few paces. Archie and Atlanta called out words of greeting. Neil flustered and babbled about how well the fairy lights looked ("doesn't the green just bring out the reds, don't you think Jay?"). Odie simply grinned.

At 11.55, a small hand interlaced itself with his, steering him to the light-clad edge of the rooftop. Theresa glanced up at him for a moment, a coy smile lighting up her excited face.

They stood hand in hand on the edge, watching and waiting. Finally, she turned back to meet his eye again, emerald on chocolate.

The night sky exploded into a collage of fiery colour, the gang whooped and cheered at what must have been New Olympia's best fireworks display. Somewhere, a bell chimed midnight.

The smile danced on her lips as she leaned over to whisper the first words of the new year.

_Make a wish, Jay, make a wish. _


	51. Hers

A/N: Thank you to the wonderful reviews on the last chapter, I appreciate them!

I distinctly recall someone asking for more Archie/Atlanta, and so here it is! As much as I prefer the torment and beauty in Jay/Theresa, this was also quite rewarding to write. It's a one hundred word drabble, but I enjoy the challenge in short fiction.

* * *

Hers

Atlanta loathed the idea of ownership as much as she did pink frills and cherry flavoured lip-gloss.

Ownership was degrading; defining something in terms of who'd made the highest bid. It was this outrage that prompted her into fighting for those who couldn't speak against their owners. The volunteer groups she'd been with showed her she'd been on the right path.

Then the issue with fate arose, and she went to New Olympia. Then she'd met Archie. And there was something about the sexist, pessimistic, purple haired dork that awakened a strong desire to make him utterly and completely hers.


	52. Closer

A/N: I'm back! Hooray!

Thank you for all then reviews I received in my absence, I really enjoyed reading them. Please, keep them coming in! 200 isn't all that far away, and it would make me the happiest writer to get there!

This one's been lurking on my desktop for a while, so I just had to post it instead of putting off like I have been for the past few weeks (you may call me Lady Hamlet, or Mrs Prufrock, whichever takes your fancy). Again, I love the idea of Neil and Theresa's friendship - it just works, doesn't it?

* * *

Closer 

Something that Neil would never admit (especially to a certain descendant of Jason); he was closer to her than he let on.

Verbal confirmation aside, Neil enjoyed Theresa's company. She was possibly the best shopping companion he'd had, with her bottomless card – and patience. Often he'd be the one dragging half a department store into the change rooms, while Theresa would wait outside and comment with appropriate _oohs_ and _ahs_ and _maybe not that shirt with those denims_.

Theresa didn't judge his more abstract choices (unless it was an awful burgundy that didn't match any of his scarves). She didn't make him feel childish or lesser than her. He didn't have to be a psychic to guess that she liked his company as equally as he liked hers.

He'd often wondered if it would develop into something more – he once pictured her modelling with him in some exotic location, happy together in a way that no girl had made him feel quite so content. He should really say something to her – _oh, Theresa, maybe we should be more than shopping partners?_ – but he won't. She won't. Her heart was captivated from the very first moment she met Jay, and Neil wasn't masochistic enough to ask her to settle for less.

Still, friendship was enough. Surrounded by the world of fashion, they could put aside their fates and pretend to be as ordinary as any other teenager.

Well, apart from his ridiculously good looks and her affluence.


	53. Date

A/N: Another long absense, my apologies guys.

Last time I checked, this is sitting on around 160 reviews. I'd love to get to 200 in the next 10 chapters. It'd really make my entire day-week-month-year-existence.

Thank you to all the wonderful reviews! I promise, I'm going to try to respond to them from here onwards. You deserve to know just how happy the reviews make me.

Also, I will hopefully be getting around to updating The Very Secret Diaries of New Olympia, probably today or sometime in the next week. I'm still taking ideas for that, so head over to that story and leave me a review, if you so desire.

I'm currently working on a different drabble series - Memoria, for the Young Dracula archive. It's same-same but different in ways to this, and you may enjoy it. Or you may love it. Or you might think _meh_. Whatever your initial feelings, you should check it out and leave me a review!

Thanks!

* * *

Date

Jay had once tried dating other girls.

Well, _one_ other girl. Singular.

Sara sat two tables to his right in English. She was blonde, of average intelligence and probably a little too chatty for his liking. Sara felt the need to babble about the most mundane facts. _All. The. Time. _At first, it had been a welcoming distraction. Absentminded chatter in the corridors between classes. Her laugh had been nice enough; it made the edges of her lips curve upwards to form the tiniest of dimples.

They weren't really friends; acquaintances at best, really. Yet she'd come up in conversation one day, between Theresa and himself.

Jay wasn't stupid. He saw the way Theresa's eyes narrowed as he talked about Sara. Her jaw set stiffly and she was suddenly _colder_. The shift in demeanour had been small, but he made a note to remember the effect of discussion of the insignificant girl had on his team mate.

Jealousy, he decided, was a beautiful emotion in Theresa.

Asking Sara out for dinner was much simpler than what he'd pictured it to be. She _gushed_ – there really was no other word for it – as they walked between English and Biology. She gushed about restaurants and she gushed about dresses, and hair, and days and times.

He tried to be charming, he really did. Even when she ordered the most expensive set menu to share. And when she rambled for eight minutes about her older sister's flatmates, and her friend Kirsten's boyfriend's new job at the local supermarket.

It was so _normal_, it was stifling.

When it came to his time to talk, he found himself mumbling about school and sailing. When she asked about his friends, he shook his head and quickly changed the subject. _Too complicated for Sara_, he decided. _Too complicated for anyone else_.

They ended up splitting the bill. He offered to walk her back home. She declined, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder before hailing a cab.

Jay had walked home alone. The lights of the Brownstone were still typically on when he arrived. He found the team sprawled across the lounge room, a trashy zombie-comedy-horror film playing.

He didn't stay. He left quickly, feeling Theresa's knowing smirk follow him to his room. He bolted the door shut and flopped gracelessly onto his bed. He lay there all night, unblinking, staring at his ceiling. Rising sleepless the next morning, he decided to forget the horrible night by burying himself in a painful training session. The Jay solution to everything.

He was three reps into his cardio when Odie wandered in. He settled onto a yoga ball, watching him bemusedly as he finished his drill.

"I take it the night didn't go as you planned?"

Jay sighed. "And what gave that away?"

The teen shrugged nonchalantly. "Sara wasn't your type."

No, Sara wasn't his type. And they both knew who was, in fact, his type. A certain redhead who had no doubt read his mind the moment he'd walked in the door last night. A certain redhead who was the complete opposite of Sara. A certain redhead who, he promised, would never try to make jealous again.

"Nah. She wasn't, was she?"

Odie chuckled. "Glad you're sorting this out now, Jay, aren't-cha?"

In the sweaty air of the gym, Jay vowed to never attempt anything as disastrous as dating again. Ever.


	54. Hate

A/N: Hellooooo!

Keeping with the "-ate" theme of the last chapter's title, here's _Hate_, in which Jay realises why he loves and hates our favourite redhead psychic. It's partially inspired by the "I Hate" poem in _10 Things I Hate About You, _a great movie that you should all watch immediately. Julia Stiles, Heath Ledger, Joseph Gordon-Levitt... need I say more?

My reviewers are happiness in human form.

* * *

Hate

The problem with Theresa was that he loved her wholeheartedly almost all the time, and despised her the rest.

Well, maybe not _despised _her. But he hated when she read his mind (even though she swore she couldn't), and how she knew exactly what to say to make him smile, laugh, hurt or cry. He hated the way her head fit perfectly between his shoulder and neck, and how he could never find reasons to deny her embrace. He hated when she beat him in training and how she would always help him to his feet, smirking the whole time. He hated how she could always find him in his moments of thought, and he hated her for understanding what he couldn't. He hated her when they fought, and he hated her when she would always be the first to walk away.

But he supposed that all he hated in her was… himself.


	55. Numbers

A/N: And in celebration of the Olympics, here's a new chapter.

* * *

Numbers

Zero deviation. Archie was single-minded, no nonsense, unchanging in his habits. Mornings were an ordered routine. He could count them to the second.

One, continuous groan from whenever his hand connected with his alarm clock until either the unfortunate instrument broke or when his feet disentangled from his sheets and found their way into his running shoes.

Two bleary eyes would pick out his gym clothes, scattered around the room. Archie's room was arguably the messiest (he preferred to think of his room as _well used_), but he knew the exact location of all his possessions. He knew, for example, that his sweatpants were under the armchair, and his shirt lay despondently on top of his chest of drawers, under yesterday's jumper.

Three minutes after getting dressed, he would be walking out the front door of the Brownstone. He set the stopwatch on his wristwatch – his run was calculated to the minute. He'd set off, initially keeping his tired eyes to the pavement, but eventually would slow down and watch the city rise around him.

Four blocks down, he would encounter the traffic lights and endure a painful wait for his turn to cross.

Five minutes into the run, he'd cross into the park. The smell of the trees would always hit him first. Archie was a sentimental person, and for him, the park smelt like _green_. He wasn't sure if colours could have a smell, but it was the only word that fit in his poetic mind.

Six new trails had been added to the park in the past year alone. Three of them had been the direct result of _certain_ skirmishes with a _certain_ Greek god, which had managed to flatten and occasionally burn down parts of the park (the city council was under the impression that lightning strikes were responsible). Archie would always smile as he ran through these clearings; they were proof that somehow, due to some stupid luck, they were still alive. Sure, the park and its trees took the fall, but the team was still alive. If he looked around, he knew he'd be able to find regrowth from the blackened tree stumps, and he'd beam with hope.

Seven a.m., and he'd be heading back for the Brownstone. Depending on the routines of the rest of the team, he was usually the first in line for the second floor shower. He'd soak under the blissfully hot water until the angry knocks on the bathroom door became too impatient, and immerge from the steam.

Eight people would appear in the kitchen (one bearing plates of breakfast items that would disappear into hungry mouths quicker than she could serve). Archie usually didn't bother in the melee; he'd steal toast off Atlanta's plate when she wasn't looking. It gave him tremendous satisfaction to see her initial shock, and then her expression fade to mild irritation at the sight of her toast in his hands.

Nine o'clock, and the school day would begin.

Ten. Archie knew that if he was given ten different options, ten different places to be, he'd always pick this one; his life in New Olympia.


	56. Restless

A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviewers on the last chapter - **Written Parody** (such encouragement as always, you're truly amazing!), **merdisney**, **Tinian I'att**, **Devitta33** and **HoneyGoddess57**.

I'm hoping to expand this story eventually. I've always loved that line - "While all the other rich girls were bored, I was restless." I'd love to explore Theresa's childhood in more detail - much more so than what I did in The Before Series. I think there's so much more to her life, as well as the rest of the team.

Anyway, here's _Restless_...

* * *

Restless

_While all the other rich girls were bored, Theresa was restless._

* * *

Theresa had grown accustomed to treat birthdays like she would every other day of the year. There was nothing in them for her.

As a five year old, and for most of her childhood, she'd been of a different disposition. A hopeful one, perhaps. Or naïve. Childlike in her assumptions that, for one short day in January, her father would be at home on the morning of her birthday.

He never was.

Instead, she'd sigh and accept whatever blatant substitute he'd leave behind. One year, it had been a pony – that year had been good. Riding lessons was one thing the both of them could do together, albeit looking back on these memories, she always found him with his work phone in hand.

Most years, it was a nondescript card with a cheque folded inside. Her father would leave a message (sometimes in a neat, cursive script that looked suspiciously like his secretary's), and his signature at the bottom. _His signature_. Like she was a business transaction; the transference of money from one bank account to another.

Theresa wasn't stupid. She knew her father loved her. But she wondered if there wasn't something more to birthdays than what she had. She had asked her father to make her sixteenth birthday present to be from the heart.

Not that the red convertible wasn't generous, but Theresa wanted more. The heart wasn't made from wheels and an engine.

For a girl that had everything, Theresa had nothing but physical meaninglessness. She wanted something more.


	57. Eternity

A/N: Thank you for the (awesome) response to the last chapter. It really makes my days; reading my audience's reviews.

An especially big thank you to **WrittenParody. **I can't. I really, truly can't. That review... I don't have the words. But I am utterly in awe of your always uplifting encouragement and brilliance. So, this one is for you.

This is something that's been gnawing at me. Not my usual style, but what the heck. I'll try it out. Ambiguity is such a bittersweet stasis, I felt I had to try this way of writing.

* * *

Eternity

_O God, I am not like you_  
_In your vacuous black, _  
_Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti. _  
_Eternity bores me, _  
_I never wanted it._

- Sylvia Plath, _Years_

* * *

Eternity bored Cronus; he regretted seeking it. The infinite expanse that had once thrill him now seemed to coat the corners of the cell, the walls, the bars, the air he breathed. It was all an unbearable stench.

_This is what you sought, my dear._

He slammed a fist into the wall. Cool metal did not bend, and he winced. Beyond the door, he heard Campe chuckle. The laughter gnawed at him.

He shook his head in the vain hope of ridding the monstrous cackle from his mind. The sound was jostled between the walls of his thoughts, twisting into words of agonising shapes.

_This is what you chose._

"I never chose this!" he screamed at the dull air. "I never wanted this!"

Campe's cackle grew.

"Of course you chose this," his jailer called. "This, here, this is eternity. Minos granted you as much."

A sentencing. Eternity had become a sentencing. It was stifling. Intolerably so, like dry summer wind. It clung to him, settling over his slumped figure, painting across his flushed skin and hair.

Cronus felt the minutes. The God of Time felt them as hammer strikes. One… two… three… each was a torturous consciousness, begging to escape. He gritted his teeth and let them wash over him.

Eternity wasn't supposed to be like this.

* * *

Two figures sat along a cliff side, their legs dangling into the deep abyss below, seemingly daring the great space to snatch at them from. In the quiet morning air, the sun not yet awakened, they waved at the stars, like greeting old friends.

The woman's hair danced along her bare back. The man found this an unbearable curiosity; the ribboned patterns in made in the light breeze. It was touching, he thought, the way that her waves of hair could captivate even the toughest of hearts. He sighed, drawing his eyes away from her back, choosing to stare at his bare feet. He wondered if he could touch the wind; make it dance and sing. He would make it so, just for her.

The sun was stirring now, in the blue-grey distance. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, the tresses of cool hair tickling his skin. They watched as the morning air tensed, as if startled by some miniscule noise, and vanished into the last of the night.

Morning filled the sky, coating the trees, the grass, the cliffs, all in a pink light. Their toes, stilling swinging above the abyss, touched for the briefest of moments. He jumped; she chuckled, sending clear pearls of laughter echoing into the air.

"How long are we going to stay here?" He wondered – aloud, he realised.

The woman turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his. The pinkish hues of the sun lit their irises afire. She found her answer in the curve of his lips, placing a soft kiss along them.

"Eternity. This is what we have sought, my dear."

He smiled. Time, he decided, would satiate.

"Eternity."


	58. Words

A/N: I'm having a lot _feels_ lately. My friends call it madness.

I call it _inspired lunacy_.

Anyway, I think you should all be aware that since this is starting to approach 200 reviews, I'm going to be excessively happy. Completely, overly, content. I'd love for that to happen before Chapter Sixty.

I've been noticing a few more drabble-type stories popping up recently. I wonder how this rates, in comparison. Leave me your thoughts, yeah? I can't promise you'll get them back, though.

(_I'm only slightly insane, I promise. Mostly I'm just giddy with the weight of words. Hence this. Enjoy!)_

* * *

Words

Neil, for all his incessant babbling, knew the power of words. He liked the shapes they formed on paper; the way ink carved itself in pretty, curled words. More than that, he liked to be the carver. _Neil, _he'd write with excessive flourish, usually across a glossy picture of himself.

Most of all, he liked handing over the signed _artwork_, into the sighing hands of a star-struck admirer. He liked the questions his mind would throw up afterwards._ Did they like my face, or my words?_ He didn't mind the answer to be either. Both were close to him.

He practised his signature now, absentmindedly caressing his English book with the tip of his pen. _Neil_, with all curved edges and careful strokes.

Beside him, Theresa chuckled.

Neil leaned into the back of his chair, admiring his work. Turning to the redhead, he raised an eyebrow in mock shock. "What, Theresa? Some girls would be fighting each other to get their hands on _my _signature."

For a moment, he entertained the fantasy that Theresa, the admittedly beautiful fighter, would be one of _those girls. _But he dismissed the thought as soon as it had arrived. He knew that path only lead to one thing; one little word that he quite simply _hated._ One word that Theresa, in all her beauty and wisdom, had no idea of. Or maybe she did, and she was just as spiteful as him.

He hoped not.

"Why, do you want me to get on my knees and beg you for your autograph?" Her voice was measured, guarded – Neil shuddered. Her eyes were dangerously stony, and he instantly regretted his answer. But he gave it anyway.

"Would you?" He smirked, wondering how far a cocky grin could get him. "Get on your knees for me, I mean?"

Theresa laughed. He winced. There it was. The sound of that dreaded, awful word. _Rejection. _It slapped him in the face, driving the air from his chest and the pride from his heart.

"You're my best friend, Neil."

Neil knew he could be killed by those words.

No swords, no magic, no fists.

Just words.

Just words and a girl.


	59. Jigsaw

A/N: Not sure how I feel about this, but eh. Archie x Atlanta has never been my strong point, but I thought I'd give it a go. It's only fair, considering how many Jay x Theresa drabbles I write.

Please review and whatnot. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far - there's so many of you, and you're all incredible.

* * *

Jigsaw

_The spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly._

* * *

"I'm hungry."

Atlanta smirked at the boy, tapping his leg with her toe. Sprawled on the couch, just the two of them at home – this, this was nice.

"So, get some food then, Arch."

He stuck his tongue out at her, gesturing to her legs thrown haphazardly across his lap. His own legs were tangled in there, too. She liked the feeling of being a human jigsaw puzzle, with him, she realized. _With him. _With Archie.

They laughed, together, as Archie detached himself. He extracted himself from the couch, wandering towards the fridge. From the kitchen, he called to her – something about a movie on TV.

When he returned, his face was forlorn.

"There's… nothing in the fridge."

She made a face. "What about in the cupboard?"

Archie shrugged, but then a different idea altogether entered him. He blushed, stammering the question. "How about… we go and get dinner out? Just you and me?"

_Just you and me?_

Atlanta wasn't so naïve that she is blind to Archie's affections. Maybe she was a coward, but she had no desire to look into herself, and see if there was something in her that could reciprocate those feelings. Ignorance, until such a time, suited.

And now he'd popped that balloon, and maybe, just maybe, she would have to respond.

When she spoke, her voice was like a rumour. She wasn't not sure if it came out or not, or if it was true.

_I'd like that._

Archie smiled.

* * *

They ended up at a pizza joint a few minutes later – neither had bothered changing into anything fancy. Atlanta preferred it that way. This way, she somehow could quash the nervous feeling inside her, that this may be a date with Archie. Her best friend. Her and Archie. On a date. Together.

They ate sporadically; she watched him from beneath her lashes while he talked nonsense about mindlessness. Her pizza was tasteless in her mouth, but she regretted wolfing it down. She had no idea what to do with her hands when they were finished; they sat awkwardly on the table, sweaty palms upwards.

Seemingly in slow motion, Archie's arms reached out towards her, his hands fitting over hers. With wide eyes, they laced their fingers together, staring at the perfectness of the way they fit together, like a jigsaw puzzle.

"_Atlanta_…"

She met his eye and did what she did best. She pulled away, muttering something about the bathroom. She weaved through the tables, finally reaching the door – she felt his hurt gaze following her, through the door when she closed it. She raced to the sink, splashing her face with water, hoping to cleanse herself from whatever had happened back there, at the table.

Perhaps dinner had been a mistake.

Perhaps it had been the best decision they'd ever made.

Perhaps Archie loved her.

Perhaps she loved him, too.

Atlanta stared at herself in small bathroom mirror. Had something changed in her, in that moment? She thought she saw it in her eyes – something had changed, in there. Her eyes could never look at Archie the same way, not without the remembrance of their perfectly interwoven fingers. If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.

When she emerged, Archie had already paid the bill. She followed him out, onto the street. They walked home in silence, side by side. She didn't try to glance at him from the corners of her eyes, for fear of seeing a change in him, too. She didn't want Archie any different to how he was – her purple haired dork!

At the door to the dorm, they stopped. Her heart fluttered, as he turned to face her. His eyes were dark, brooding in the depths. She couldn't look away.

"Thank you," he murmured, after a moment, the finality of his voice cutting at her. "Thank you for having dinner with me."

At first, she could not speak. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him?

"I… yeah." Mentally, she berated herself. Why now, why did she have to be a tongue-tied idiot? He was her best friend! Her Archie! Dinner with him, _just him_, didn't have to change anything.

Except, it had. And there was no going back.

Reaching up to him, on the tips of her toes, Atlanta pressed a small hand to his cheek. The roughness of it startled her, but she didn't withdraw. She leaned in closer (or was it him?), closer, closer, their breath mingling in the air, until there was no more space between-

Their lips met; soft, unsure. She'd somehow closed her eyes during the slow approach to Archie, and now she felt them opening again, as they pulled apart.

Archie's grey eyes were smiling.

She smiled back.

"That was nice," he murmured, a hand lifting to cup her face. "I mean, it was nice for me, I'm assuming it was nice for you-"

"Shut up, Arch." She whispered, pulling him in for another kiss.

* * *

When the others arrived home, weary from their day, they found the two entwined on the couch, limbs sprawled and tangled together, fast asleep. They didn't see that beneath the tangle of twisted limbs, the their fingers were laced together; the spaces between each finger perfectly filled. Like a jigsaw.

"Right where we left them," Jay muttered. "They haven't moved."

How wrong one teenager can be.


	60. Time

A/N: Weow, new chapter.

Thanks to everyone that reviewed last chapter - you know who you are, and you're all infinitely incredible, and you make my days, every time.

Apologies, as I've been rereading my work, and lordy, I overuse commas. I'm so, so, so sorry. Opps.

Anyway, this is set sometime during the first few episodes. It was originally in Restless, a Class of the Titans story that I'm in the process of drafting. I think I've spoken about it. Currently, it's only in early stages, but I may have it ready soon-ish.

Also, big dedication to **Written Parody**. I think wayyy back on Chapter 34, you left the prompt 'Time'. Well... I got around to it! Finally!

* * *

Time

_Of course you're real – like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it._

* * *

"Archie?"

The teen didn't turn, but she heard him sigh, arms melting to the railings. She hovered in the doorway, waiting for him to acknowledge her – she mentally screamed at him to turn, to speak, to say her name –

He turned, and she wished he hadn't. His eyes, normally steely and endless, were dark and glassy. Her eyes flickered to the bruising around his left eye, and the split skin on his knuckles that gripped the rails with white-hot intensity.

"Go away, Theresa," he murmured.

Theresa shook her head. She took a step and didn't want to take any more, but she did, closing the space between them. She wrapped her arms around the tall warrior, hugging him tightly as if her embrace alone could hold him together. After a moment's hesitation, he returned the embrace, burying his face in her hair. She felt his breathing across her neck, and she shivered.

Although it broke her heart, she was glad she was there.

They stood like that for thirty seconds of forever. Thirty seconds that neither of them wanted to end, but knew that it must. Time was funny like that. It flew, it told, and worst of all, it ran out.

He brushed her arms away, turning back to face out to the city with renewed intensity. She moved to his side, placing her hands on the railings next to his, just close enough that if she moved her little finger the slightest, she would feel his.

"Why'd you get into a fight, anyway?" she finally asked, words spilling out into the evening.

The teen shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters, Archie."

Archie made a nonchalant gesture. "_I'm_ fine. You should see the other guy."

Theresa eyed his injuries, and found herself agreeing. An angry Archie wasn't something that any person would want to come across. The warrior was formidable even at the best of times, but when he lost control… she winced, wondering if there was a much-beaten kid hobbling home, somewhere in the city.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she finally asked, watching him from the corner of her eyes.

Archie muttered something that sounded like _drama queen_, and turned away.

Theresa wondered if that beaten teen was the one standing with her.

Silence engulfed them as the evening crawl on. The blaring of car horns and music faded to a low hum as they watched from the rooftop. Archie dared not turn around; Theresa watched the slump of his shoulders, wondering if it was worth looking into her friend's mind. He certainly needed it, though he'd never admit such a thing. None of them would – _I'm fine _was a much-favoured response in the Brownstone. She often wondered why she had been gifted with such abilities, if even her own friends didn't want them.

In truth, she knew he would talk – but not to her. That conversation would only happen between Archie and the _other_ redhead of the dorm.

"I'm going to go back inside," she announced to the back of his head. "I'll see you at dinner, Archie."

She turned to the doorway, but a whisper from Archie halted her.

"_Can you stay?_"

It wasn't talking he needed. No, Archie needed so much more than that.

Archie needed her to _stay_.

So she stayed.

She leant on the railings with him, staring out into the rooftops, never fully _looking_. Archie's grey eyes were softer than before, didn't wander, but stared, straight out into the distance. She gazed up at him, wondering what happened behind those cold walls. Of all the team, Archie was the one she couldn't quite figure out. No one was straightforward, but they were so much simpler to read… and Archie was so heavily guarded, it maddened her.

After a while, he thanked her. Just for staying. Just for her presence.

_Thanks, Terri._

_That's quite alright, Arch_. It was _Arch_ and _Terri_, now. They were friends. Just friends. Not close friends, but not acquaintances. One day, maybe they would be closer. It's a lot easier to be on the verge of something than to actually be it.

This would still take time.


	61. New Olympia

A/N: I've been thinking a lot, lately, about the city of New Olympia. I've always toyed with ideas about how the city would be; a mix of New York and Toronto? I'm not sure, really, but I'm sure it would be beautiful. So, here's a drabble about the city itself, with a little bit of one of the gang. I'm not sure who, exactly. It's not all that important to know.

BIG THANK YOU TO - everyone who reviewed! You're all beautiful.

* * *

New Olympia

The city is quiet in the soft glow of the afternoon. The sun, not quite descended, clings to the horizon. The city buildings in the distance are holding up the sky, it seems. They cannot hope to hold off the night, as the last rays of sun touch the distant ground before sinking behind mountains. The afternoon fades into evening, an indigo glow signifying the approach of evening.

On the rooftop of a brownstone, a figure rests his arms along the balcony, watching the sun slip away.

_I am tired_, he thinks. _I am so tired._

Below him, the florescent streets blare with car horns. At his height, on the rooftop, he cannot escape the city noise. He looks up, to the stars flickering on and off like lights, and wonders when it will be his turn to escape the constant noise of the city. His heart is heavy with the weight of it all – the traffic, the incomprehensible exit of the sun. It is tiring; the slow decay.

But he smiles at the beauty of destruction.

He waits, alone on the rooftop. He doesn't wait for anything in particular. He drinks in the smog and city glow. And fatigue – he drinks that in, too. It's world-weariness, it's loneliness, but mostly it's the ache of his inability to escape this city. He thinks of the city as a fishbowl, and curses the great glass structures that pierce the night sky, dripping it with stars. He hates the city, and he is tired.

And the night is so deep and dark that he wonders if the sun will ever come up. But it will, in the eventually of the night's close, and the figure drifts into a breathing unconsciousness.

In the pink haze of the morning, he scrapes himself off the rooftop, and wanders inside, his abhorrence of the city forgotten in the sleepless night.

_I am tired_, he thinks. _I am so, so tired_.


	62. Fighter

A/N: I'm having a weird obsession with Archie and Theresa. I blame Jennieman, but eh. This is probably a good thing.

Be sure to check out my new story! It's called Streets and it's just been published. This was meant to be in it, but it didn't quite work with the story. Since I didn't want to leave it in my computer... well, you guys can still read it!

* * *

Fighter

_A fight's worth nothing if they know from the start who will win it. _

* * *

Archie picks himself off the ground, maybe for the fifth time in the last half hour. He probably won't be able to sit down tomorrow if they continue at this rate, but he won't stop. He clings to the skinny hope that somehow, just somehow, he can win this bout.

Around them, he can sniff out a savagery in the sweaty air. It knifes its way into his nose, but he doesn't bleed blood. It's fatigue he bleeds, and it gushes over his lip. He wipes it away, a sneer forming over the bruising skin.

"Is that all you got?" He taunts, hiding behind a grimace.

The girl shakes her head, her hair whipping across her slick face. "Not a chance, Archie."

They circle each other, making darting movements, no limbs connecting. He waits for her to strike first, grunting as her foot connects with his thigh. She dances away, but before she's out of his reach, he lands a punch on the small of her back. He grins as she whips around, the small satisfaction of his fist connecting with her back enough to make him risk a further taunt.

"Thought you were a fighter, Theresa."

Her green eyes narrow in rage – he's struck a chord, but Archie's too weary to care. She lunges at him, assaulting him with a volley of strikes. He does his best to block them, but then the air is driven from his lungs when she punches through his arms, into his stomach.

He is down again. He feels his sweaty body sticking to the floor. It's the sound of his breathing that gets him, pouring down into his lungs and then tripping back up his throat.

"Are you getting up, or have you had enough?"

Archie can sense her smirk, this time. It pushes him from the floor, his aching limbs propelling him to a standing position. He sucks in air, spitting it out raggedly, eyeing the girl wearily. She's probably won, he thinks, but dismisses the thought quickly. She doesn't believe she's the winner, not yet – she stands guarded, ready to strike again. No, he still has fight left in him. He could fight the fighter.

And yet… a fighter can be a winner, but that doesn't make a winner a fighter. And unfortunately for Archie, he will be neither in this bout.

He can see it in her eyes.


	63. Olympics

A/N: Thank you to all the reviews... **Written Parody**, **HoneyGoddess57**, **mcfuz**,** Jennieman**, **Absolute Honesty **and **Tinian I'att**. I really appreciate it, so thank you again. Especially **Absolute Honesty**, for well, the absolute honesty. I appreciate the balanced review, so thank you. And welcome! You said you were new to the Archives? We're all very friendly here. Well, most of us. Hehehe. **  
**

This was written ages ago, back in August and in an Olympic-fever haze. Enjoy!

* * *

Olympics

"Odie, do you think I could be in the Olympics?"

The smaller teen looked over at his brawny companion, who'd taken to watching the Olympic broadcast of weightlifting as a kind of religion. Odie suspected Herry had found kindred souls in his Olympic heroes; they all shared his uncannily muscular physique. None of them could match Herry's strength, of course. Not even the world-class weightlifters had what Herry had; the blood of Heracles himself, flowing through his veins.

He watched Herry absentmindedly flexing; his beefy arms rippling with muscles. Odie knew in a heartbeat that if Herry was to ever take his gifts to the world stage, the professionals wouldn't stand a chance. He imagined his friend living out his dreams; lifting weights far above his head, beaming at the crowds.

… And then there'd be the issue of explaining how an unknown seventeen year old had more strength than all of the Olympic weightlifters put together.

With a sigh, Odie shook his head. "Nah, save it for the normal mortals."


	64. Die

A/N: This will be the first half a two-shot type drabble. The other will be arriving... soon.

This is inspired by The Book Thief, a undefinably incredible book that you should all read (or have already read and fallen in love with... *wink wink* **Written Parody**). the way that Zusak writes... it's breathtaking. It's the level that I want to be at, one day. His writing made me want to become a writer, so I hope my love of words transcends through all of the work I post on this site.

Anyway, thank you for the reviews!

* * *

Die

_"It kills me sometimes, how people die."_  
– Markus Zusak

* * *

They'd taken to a bedside vigil, waiting for the boy to wake. The teens, those irrepressible descendants, refused sleep for as long as their mortal bodies could hold out. Most had gone back to the dormitory for much needed rest. The gods were more enduring in their watch; Ares hadn't moved since the Chiron had finished stitching.

Hera glanced around the room. The headcount hadn't changed for most of the night. Ares in the corner, eyes fixated on the teenager on Chiron's stretcher. Artemis paced in the corner like a caged beast. Chiron stood at his desk, pouring over an ancient volume of poisons.

Two of the descendants had chosen to remain by their teammate's side through the night. Watching them now, Hera wondered if it would be better to order them back to the dormitory. Jay had lapsed into sleep, head resting on the edge of the makeshift bed. She smiled fondly at his resting body. Jay, _her _Jay. If his courage alone could carry humanity, they'd be travelling the heavens by now.

The other teenager had become a sort of statue, unmoving through the long night. Her little hand was firmly clasping her teammate's pale fingers. Her tired eyes betrayed her every so often, as she drifted into sleep, but awoke after a second's hesitation. She'd been so calm through the whole ordeal; Hera wondered how she'd hid her fear. Because, in truth, they were all terrified.

_What if the mortal was to die?_ The prophecy would be broken. And hearts too, would be broken. Lives, even. Hera dismissed the thought. No, no, _no_. The mortal would _not_ die. She would not allow it. Not him, not any of them.

And yet… that wasn't her jurisdiction. It wasn't her call. She could only watch over the seven, unable to intervene in their destinies. She could send them into battle and tend to their wounds, but never, never, fight with them. Or die with them, which mortals had become very good at. Too easily, too swiftly, she watched humans fade.

It killed her sometimes; how easily mortals could die.


	65. Strength

A/N: Here's the second part of _Die_. And yes, you'll find out who was on the stretcher.

I looked back through all of these drabbles the other day, and I still can't believe just how far these have come. I've grown a lot as a writer in the past year, and so I guess I should thank all of you for being a part of that process. Not that it's stopping! No, chill, there's still plenty more of these to come! But... again, thank you.\

* * *

Strength

Herry stood by the kitchen sink, staring out the window with blank-minded determination. One hand rested on the edge of the countertop, the other curled around his waist, as if to hold his insides from spilling out. Outside, the sky was dark. It was early, early morning. It was that time when it was still dark, but he knew the day was coming. Blue was bleeding through black. Stars were dying in the approach of morning.

From the doorway, Odie cleared his throat, but the brawny teen didn't turn his head. Instead, he closed his eyes, tightly, wondering if the darkness behind his eyelids would erase the memories of the past few hours.

His eyelids were pressed together as hard as he could manage, but the ache persisted.

"How are you doing, buddy?"

"How do you think?"

Odie tensed. "It's not as bad as you think, Herry. Nobody blames you – Archie will be fine, you know how he is with injuries. It's not your fault-"

"But it is!" Herry finally opened his eyes, the raw pain leaking from them in angry flashes. "It's my fault Archie got hurt! I panicked! IT'S MY FAULT!"

The sound of cracking wood splintered through the kitchen – they both gazed down at Herry's hand, now embedded in a fist-sized hole in the countertop.

Odie shook his head. "It's not your fault – but Athena's not going to be impressed."

The threat of the goddess' rage barely registered on Herry's face. All he could see was the sweeping of twin scythes, a frantic gesturing… and a rush of purple hair.

Jay had already apologised, unnecessarily. _I ask too much of you, buddy. You're so infallible, but I can't expect that from you, or anyone. I'm sorry._ He'd accepted the apology, too, but that hadn't stopped him pacing in front of an unconscious Archie, the guilt pouring from his giant frame.

"It's not your fault, Herry."

Herry nodded.

Odie smiled encouragingly at his tall friend, wondering if words were enough. Of course they weren't. Not in the early hours of the morning. But only Herry could help himself now, and he had faith that his friend's strength would persevere. It always did.

"Have hope, Herry." He whispered, leaving the brawn to himself.

He sighed, looking down into the kitchen sink. His eyes tried to sleep, but they didn't. They stayed wide awake as time snarled forward and silence dropped down, like measured thought.

_Have hope, Herry._

Herry searched the empty sink, but there was none in there.


	66. Petrichor

A/N: So, there's been rather hectic weather here, these past couple of days. This is the direct result of procrastinating during torrential rain.

I quite like the way it turned out.

On a sadder note, I have exams for the next few weeks, and may not be updating as frequently. But I'll try, I promise!

* * *

Petrichor

_Petrichor; noun. The smell of rain on dry ground._

* * *

Odie flicks through the morning newspaper, scanning the headlines absentmindedly. Herry glances over his shoulder, dropping toast crumbs from his mountainous stack. The brainy teen takes a moment to glower at his friend, and then resumes his analysis of the day's news.

"Can you hurry up and get to the weather section, Odie?" Herry requests impatiently, mouth full of jam toast. "I wanna go shoot some hoops later."

With a grumble, Odie turns to the meteorology page, handing the newspaper over. "Knock yourself out."

Herry frowns, pointing at the page. "Afternoon showers! And it's already-," he checks his watch, "-eleven thirty!"

Picking up his coffee mug, Odie makes a nonchalant gesture, taking himself and his empty mug to the kitchen. "Maybe you should have woken up earlier." He pauses, glancing back at his friend inquisitively. "Why did you sleep in, anyway? Last night wasn't a movie night."

The brawny teen shrugs. "I need lots of sleep. I'm a growing boy."

Odie looks his friend straight in the eye. "Herry, if you grow any more, Cronus will have to recruit you."

He left Herry pondering that little gem, and turned back into the kitchen. He glanced at the towers of plates, cups, cutlery and… was that a saucepan? With a sigh, he realised the washing up wasn't going to wash itself. And yet, it didn't seem fair that he has to be the one to clean what seems to be a week's worth of dirty dishes.

A thought strikes him, like lightning. A stroke of genius!

Odie grins.

* * *

The first drop of rain hits Neil in a moment of disbelief. He swipes his sunglasses off and inspects his forehead with his mirror, staring at the small droplet of water, and then at the sky. Another droplet hits him, dead in the eye, resulting in an ear-splitting screech.

"WHY?!" He cries, attempting to shield his hair as he rushes around the rooftop terracing, looking for cover. Rain drops from the sky like bullets. Or, at least, he imagines it that way, each droplet piercing his moisturiser layer and ruining his perfectly-straight hair. Rain was so not good for the pores.

He decides to cut his losses, and runs for the door. He pulls it shut behind him, racing down the halls and stairs. "ATHENAAAA!"

"What?" Comes the irritated reply. The goddess was used to his antics by now, but by Zeus she didn't have to like it.

"It's raining!" He cried, finding the deity in the laundry. Pouting, he threw his arms around her waist, burying his head into her shoulder.

There is silence as Athena's gaze is frozen on the teen moulded to her form. "Are you… hugging me?" She asks, finally, staring at Neil incredulously.

The blonde whimpers, nodding.

Athena shifts uncomfortably, and then awkwardly pats the boy's rain-damp head. There wasn't much else to do in this kind of situation.

* * *

The soft droplets of rain caress the windowpanes of the café. Atlanta stares out into the blue hues, the smell of the rain seeping in from the half-opened door. This was her favourite kind of rain. It was calm, soft rain. Not a miserable drizzle or irate downpour. This kind of rain left her feeling alive, with the smell of pure, unpolluted nature soaking into her skin. She longs to finish her coffee and race the door, to the park across the street, to feel the rain matt her hair.

Beside her, Archie grumbles, picking apart his pie. "I hate rain."

"You're an insensitive hydrophobe," she retorts, in the most venomous voice she can muster with a coffee-warm mouth. "Rain is beautiful."

The warrior rolls his eyes as he swallows the last of his pie unceremoniously. Crumbs plaster his face, puffed cheeks swell with pie. _He's been learning too much from Herry,_ she thinks. _Or maybe he's always been like this_. She grimaces as he attempts to grin, the pie threatening to spill out. Despite being a less than girly girl, she still appreciates simple table manners.

"You're also a pig." She informs him, and goes to pay for their food.

* * *

Jay peers out of the glass doors, mentally cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella. Rain batters the edge of the building, thick sheets of water pouring from the sky relentlessly. The one day they hadn't driven to the school, the one time they didn't... He shakes his head dismissively.

"This is why you should develop your powers more," he mutters to the girl at his side, mocking a grimace.

Theresa laughs. "It's only a little bit of rain, Jay." Her eyes twinkle mischievously. "Unless you want me to call Herry and explain to him why he should drive all the way here and then all the way back, just because you don't want to walk home in the rain?"

He raises an eyebrow, but glances back out into the rain.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

The downpour hits him as a wave, soaking his essence in the smell of rain. He's aware that Theresa is at his side, and the concrete path below him. All else is rain, until a small hand slips into his, dragging him next to her. He falls into her rhythm, her pace a half jog, easy to keep with. The water crumbles on its way down as her hands push him forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to colour. It feels like it is being painted around them, bold brushstrokes in watercolour.

They stop at the traffic lights, well and truly drenched. She laughs up at him, her hair plastered to her face. He doesn't understand why, but he reaches out to brush a lock of wet hair from her face, their eyes locked.

"Thank you." She murmurs, lips wet with rain.

They both smile and the moment is so thick around them that he feels like dropping into it to let it carry him, all the way back to the dorm.

* * *

Athena slams the back door behind her, washing basket in hand. "You might have warned me about the torrential rainfall," she mutters to the only other occupant of the kitchen, dropping the basket of very wet clothing on the floor in a huff. "I had washing to dry."

Odie shrugs casually. "Sorry, Athena."

She flicks hair from her face, grumbling as she sees the mud she's tracked in from outside. She decides to clean it later, when the rest of the mortals arrive home – no doubt bringing mud and puddles with them. She sighs. Children. They may insist on being adolescents, but in her eyes, they are little more than drooling, squabbling babies.

With that thought, she remembers something else that she had to ask of the smallest mortal.

"Odie?"

"Yeah?"

The goddess pauses uncertainly, eying the small boy. "Can you explain why all the dishes are out on the patio?"

Odie grins sheepishly. "It's the rain's turn to do the washing up."


	67. Ace

A/N: So, it's been a while. Well, not really, but it feels like it's been ages since I've updated. I feel bad, actually, because I used to update this so often! Although, I do have the excuse of exams. Which are going pretty well, for those that want to know. They'll be over soon enough, and then I'll get right back into updating this as often as possible.

This isn't anything ambiguous or deeply ambitious. I'm dead from exams.

Enjoy.

* * *

Ace

"Archie, you have the worst poker face!"

The purple-haired warrior's scowl deepened, and Odie chucked mercilessly. Eyes darting between his cards and the rest of the group, Archie made the mental calculations.

"Show." He announced slowly. Grumbling, he dropped his cards in front of him; a ten and queen. Herry followed with a pair of threes and a tentative half-smile. Odie allowed for a few moments of silence, and then slammed down his own cards.

"Pair of queens!" He cried exuberantly. "That's how you play poker!" With a sweeping movement, he collected the pile of chips in the middle of the circle, his face lit up in a brilliant smile.

It was in this moment that Theresa carefully placed her aces in front of Odie, grinning from ear to ear. "Pocket ace!" From under his arm, she swept the winnings into her growing collection, shrugging at Odie's dumbfounded expression.

"But… but…" Odie spluttered in dismay.

"Poker tip number one." The redhead tapped her temple, winking. "Never bet against a psychic."


	68. Satchel

A/N: Another little humourous one. Purely because the next few that I've written will range from general to angst.

Exams are going well, again thank you for the kind words! And the reviews, thank you for all of them too! Once exams are over and I have more time on my hands, I'll be sending out messages to each of you wonderful people to say thank you a little more personally.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Satchel

"Cute man-bag, Neil." Herry mocked as the blonde entered the kitchen. Tucked under his shoulder was a leather shoulder bag – no doubt some expensive brand. Neil had recently discovered the ridiculous world of designer bags, and had bullied Atlanta into letting him store some of his extensive collection in her wardrobe.

Needless to say, it was driving the gang mindlessly insane.

"It's a satchel, Herry." The blonde corrected, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. "I _love_ satchels. Gucci has this fabulous leather trend, and I just _had_ to buy a few. I could buy you one, too, if you want. There was this gorgeous one in the mall yesterday, and if it's still there when Theresa and I go later, I could get it for you, if you want?"

Herry sniggered, eyeing Neil's bag. "I think I'll pass. I'm not a man-bag person."

"It's a _satchel_. Indiana Jones has one!"


	69. Red

A/N: It's been a while since my last update. Well, about a week. But that's relatively long, considering how frequently I've been updating this!

This will be the start of a seven part series. As you can guess, they'll each be centred around a colour. I'm unpredictable like that. I know I've already used this motif, but it's fun and I'm in the mood for reworking. Which is what I'm going to start doing soon. That horrendous first drabble is going to be the first to go. Expect to see a new first chapter in the coming days.

Thank you for reading, and reviewing! Exams are nearly over, bear with me!

EDIT: This is set before Chaos 101, just as a head's up.

* * *

Red

_I hate the way that I don't say what I want  
__What I want is to want what you want_

* * *

The sunset was the colour of fire, burning red across the sky. The summer heat sizzled across the road, and four occupants of the road's only car couldn't care less about the colours of the sky. They squabbled about windows and air conditioning, ignorant to the evening farewell of the sun.

Squashed into the middle of the backseat, Jay tried to glimpse the descending sun through the thick bodies crammed into the car. As delicately as he could, he pushed aside a burly friend, peering out into the sunset through the open window.

_Red cloud night, sailor's delight_, he thought, the old rhyme like a war chant. The knowing smile lit up his face; the sunset was beaming too. They both knew that tomorrow would be excellent sailing conditions.

"Oi Jay, close tha' window won't cha?"

With a sigh, Jay complied; retreating from the window, the heat of the seemingly-burning sky still scorched his face.

The driver glared at him through his rear-vision mirror, scowling. "Can you at least try to be cool, Jay? Marcey's party is going to be wicked." The three other passengers cheered in agreement, the remembrance of their destination solving the previous heated arguments.

Jay slumped into his seat, wearing a faked grin and a brow of sweat.

* * *

Marcey's party was a blur of neon red lights and free booze. Unable to lose his friends, Jay endured games of beer-pong, two rounds of shots and constant _scenery checks_. His friends were of the firm belief that Marcey, belonging to one of the more attractive circle of girls in their year at school, had sent them to a kind of heaven. Girl after girl trotted past (stumbling, as the night wore on), earning appreciative whistles from his group.

Jay refrained. They were still the same girls as ever. Fake smiles and false lashes, pretending to be so much older than fifteen. Alcohol didn't make them any more adult.

Red lips continued to smile, fuelled by the suddenly intensity of the house, and Jay found himself running to the door. He didn't stop until the cool of the summer evening had soaked into his flushed skin, when he'd sunk into a garden chair. He gulped air in, letting the star-dotted evening wash over him. He had to rinse the sweaty feeling of the party off of him; it was unbearable.

The doors spilled open and shut over the night, noise and bodies trickling into the night. Jay was content to watch the stars, closing the house and its people out. It was easy to imagine he was alone, that way. Just him, the stars, and the promise of perfect sailing.

"Can I join you?"

A girl had detached herself from the party; she stood a few paces away, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. He shrugged, gesturing to the empty space next to him. She sat, smiling a thank-you.

"Enjoying the party, too?" he murmured dryly.

She laughed. "It's my cousin's party. I'm required to be here. What do you think?"

They smiled at each other; strangers united by their discontentment. They didn't speak, but remained in a comfortable silence. The night air was much more bearable than the sweaty heat inside, in any case. Jay didn't feel like speaking much, anyway. Neither did the girl, apparently.

"I'll have to go back in," she said suddenly, rolled her eyes in mock horror. "Marcey's a party-Nazi. At lease _you_ can stay out here."

"Jay." He held out a hand. "My name's Jay."

The girl laughed and shook his hand, the smile refusing to leave her face. "Nice to meet you, Jay." Standing, she waved a farewell and paced to the doorway.

She paused by the doorway, turning back to him. The light next to the door illuminated her obscenely bright red hair.

"I'm Atlanta." She murmured, only just out enough for him to hear, and wandered back into the party.

He raised a hand and waved at the empty air.

In the morning, he watched the sun rise again, burning the sky afire. Clouds were seared in crimson. The chant was in his mouth again; a twisted chant of the rising red sun.

_Red cloud morning, sailor's warning._


	70. Orange

A/N: Sorry, I should have mentioned in my previous note that each of these drabbles will be within a word limit - Red was 700, this is 600, and they will eventually get smaller and smaller in 100 word increments. And each will follow a specific member of the team.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Also, a big thank you to Honesty, who's been editing the drafts of my up-and-coming story. Thank you for all your hard work, and the hilariousness of 'An Epic Tale'!

* * *

Orange

The orange summer haze wafted through New Olympia like an unwelcome stench. The unyielding stink of mid-July. The beach had been swarmed from daybreak, along with the city's public pools, rivers, fountains and air-conditioned areas. The mall had been shut 10 due to overcrowding. Those who wished to avoid the uncomfortably-crowded places retreated to their own backyard pools, or under their overworked air conditioning units.

The dorm, ironically, possessed neither.

Odie's foresight had saved in from the horrors of the sweltering heat. He'd locked his bedroom door the previous evening; one glance at the weather forecast had demanded such a response. He'd also realised, with a sort of slow-moving, sickening feeling, that the Brownstone would be the worst possible place to be in the orange haze of summer.

He lay on his bed, sprawled in a deliberate effort to not connect his sweaty limbs. He knew that it was early, sometime before midday, but hadn't had the energy to check the time since 10.23am. The incessant orange heat had sapped all his strength. It was inescapable, even with his ceiling fan switched to as fast as it would spin and all his heat-emitting technology pushed against the wall furthest from his bed.

Vaguely, he was aware of a knocking on his door. He ignored it, blowing tendrils of sweaty hair from his face.

"Odie!" Herry called sheepishly. "Are you in there, buddy?"

He scowled. "No. This is his answering machine. Please leave a message."

It was probably humorous, the fact that Herry kicked down the door after that. Odie would have laughed, had the unbearable heat not wafted into his bedroom with the action, making the already impossibly-hot day even more so. He glared at his brawny friend for all of three seconds, and then chuckled. As well as being shirtless, Herry had resorted to as minimal clothing as possible. He stood, arms crossed and foot tapping, in nothing but bright orange boxers.

"Team meeting in the kitchen," Herry mumbled. "Now."

"Take me to our leader." Odie muttered, peeling himself off his bed. He tried to ignore the sick feeling of sweat running down his neck. And the near-nakedness of Herry.

Once they arrived in the kitchen, Herry promptly tried to bury himself into the fridge, but could only fit his shoulders and back. The others stood in various shades of melting. And it was quiet. Too quiet, even with the low hum of the portable fan in the kitchen. Odie cleared his throat, preparing for the onslaught.

"Odie, for the love of Zeus, why didn't you install air-con the second you got here?"

The curly-haired teen inched closer to the kitchen fan, eyeing the suddenly raving sweaty form of the angry warrior. "I… I didn't think it'd be all that necessary, Arch-"

"NECESSARY!? DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT IT IS TODAY?!"

"Uh…"

From around the kitchen, a chorus of irritable, sweaty teens reminded him.

Odie blinked rapidly. "That hot? Really? I just thought Neil had done a swimsuit shoot." He chuckled at his own joke. Nobody else joined in.

"Come on guys…" he sought each of their faces. Herry was deadpanned in his attempts to fit into the fridge. Atlanta's face was flushed to the same shade of red as her hair. Theresa and Jay fanned themselves with books. Neil seemed to be hogging the ice cubes, pressing them to his forehead. Archie stared back at him with narrowed stormy eyes. From around the kitchen, they all glared at him, scowling.

Odie gulped. "It's not that bad, honestly. I mean…"

The murderous look on Archie's face shut him up.


	71. Yellow

A/N: Angsty Herry? You know you want it! Well, more existential than angsty. Probably just wangst more than anything.

Tomorrow I'm uploading a new story! Isn't that exciting? Well, don't be, because it's a follow up to Streets and from what I've heard, you'll all be having lots of feels. But it's okay; I had lots too.

Thanks for reviewing!

* * *

Yellow

_Look at the stars, look how they shine for you_  
_And all the things that you do_

* * *

Herry wasn't sure what instinct had brought him to the rooftop terrace of the dorm. His usual instincts delivered him to the fridge, or his truck. And yet he found himself standing at the edge, by Jay's telescope, just looking up to the heavens with his own two eyes.

The notion perplexed him. This wasn't his usual thinking spot. Nor did he need a thinking spot. Right? He sighed, deeply. Perhaps he did.

The others (and Herry, himself, even) weren't to know, but Herry was much more complex than he let on. He wasn't always calm, straight-forward Herry. Sometimes he could be reflective, analytical Herry. Occasionally he was both.

Above him, the sky was quiet. The constellations winked. He sighed again, dropping his gaze to the cityscape. From the ground, Herry always was amazed at how tall the dorm was. His hometown had barely any tall buildings, and here he was in this lofty Brownstone!

Looking out into the city, the dorm wasn't all that tall. It was swallowed up by its neighbours; giants in comparison. And the people, too; they dwarfed just as effortlessly as their buildings. They amazed him; bubble-minded people, but connected to the whole. He watched them now, on the pavement below. The heads with places to be. They never stopped moving.

He smiled, and then stopped. The feeling left as quickly as it came. Thoughts like these always seemed to glide away. They came to him, stayed a moment, and then left again.

The ground seemed so far away. It was dream-like, this thinking-place he was in. Herry was in his own world, where nothing was between the sky and the ground. There were no stars, buildings, no people, no Herry. Just the night time and the concrete.

And then he thought of Grannie. And his friends. And himself, too. The city couldn't encompass them. Or maybe it could, and he was the only one who saw his friends as being taller than the skyscrapers. Maybe, in reality, they weren't the impossible people. They were teenagers, seven of billions.

He looked down at the concrete pavement, far below. A small thought sunk into him, whispering. There was nothing between him and the ground. Nothing at all. That's what reality was.

Sighing for the last time, he stepped back, wondering if he had left an impression on the terrace from his thoughts. They were so heavy with words and feeling; surely they had a physical place? But there was no indication that he'd been there at all.

New Olympia chuckled at him, through car horns and changing traffic lights. He smiled back, and this time it clung on his face.

There were moments like these, when he could only stand and stare, watching the world and removing himself from it, just for a moment. Moments when he could overcome the world and ceased to exist as the person he was.

Herry felt small. But he also felt big, just to be a part of it all.


	72. Green

A/N: Here's a new chapter, newly written and all. Weow.

My new story has been published - make sure you check out Lights. I'm rather happy with it, proud even.

Thanks for all the reviews, keep them coming!

* * *

Green

_A certain shade of green,  
__Tell me, is that what you need?_

* * *

The park was an escape. Or maybe it was just the door; the path to the actual escaping, which could only be done by the small teen with an alarming shade of bright red hair, who occupied a small of stretch of grass between the trees and river. She was long past the stage of hovering at the door, waiting for the bliss of the grass between her bare feet to transport her into tranquillity. She was immersed, utterly.

Atlanta sighed, the way one can sigh only when in a state of complete ease. A sigh of escape, perhaps. It wasn't a happy sound, or a sad one. Or maybe it was; maybe that was what escaping was about. In any case, it was the sound of someone, head full of the smell of grass and the gurgling of the river; someone who had let all of her cares float away on the gentle morning breeze.

But there was still the niggling, in the back of her mind, tickling at her, like blades of grass. And it pulled her back from the bliss state, back to the park, the doorway.

Sitting up, Atlanta pulled her knees to her chest and swapped her sigh for a scowl. Self-directed anger was always such a good way to spend her time away from the gang. And she knew why she was angry, too. Absentmindedly running her hands through the longer patches of grass, she found her conclusion quite quickly.

She preferred blades of grass to the steel edges of weapons.

There. Now she'd thought it. Now there was no denying it. Now she could no longer put off the feeling of ill-ease. The displacement. She wasn't suited to this life.

So what was she doing here? Not here, as in the cool confides of the park, but here; this life, this New Olympic-fate-destiny business. It wasn't her fight, and she hated it. Hated the fact that she would have to pick herself off the grass and return to the mayhem of the dorm. Maybe not in that minute, or hour, but she'd have to return soon enough. Back to the house of Herry's sweaty socks and the constantly empty fridges. Back to Neil and Theresa's shrieking over bathrooms every morning. Back to Jay's infuriating obsessions, and Odie's techno-scheming.

And Archie. Back to him, too.

Her heart fluttered.

Maybe there were things worth returning for.


	73. Blue

A/N: I have a stack of fics that I've been working on, so hopefully you guys will begin to see me becoming a lot more active! Also, be sure to check out my new story called Lights, which has just been uploaded the other day and I'm quite happy with it.

I heard you guys liked Archie/Atlanta moments? Here's another.

* * *

Blue

_But my dreams, they aren't as empty  
__As my conscience seems_

* * *

Blue ink spilled across the paper, leaving a purple-haired teen muttering a volley of obscenities. He pried the now very wet paper off his desk, ignoring the dribble of ink dripping from it, and threw it haphazardly towards his doorway. A few seconds later, the inkwell was also thrown in that general direction, followed by his calligraphy pen.

Scowling, Archie sat fuming at his desk. The surface, his hands, his words… they were stained with blue ink. A shade of blue which he now despised, despite having spent a good twenty minutes selecting it at the stationary shop. He wanted it out of his sight, off of his hands and his paper. And his words. He wanted it gone.

He wasn't angry over the lost words, because they weren't lost. The words he'd spent so long carefully printing on the paper were still safely in his mind, and his notebook. The words were burned there already. But he was angry, because this was the first time he'd ever thought about actually delivering them. Giving them away. To someone.

The blue ink stains jeered at him from his fingertips. Their mocking infuriated him. The blue hue of the stains suddenly was unbearable. He raced from his room, up to the bathroom, seeking the sink with intensity. The cool water flowed through his fingers, but the stains refused to clean away.

With renewed strength, he scrubbed at his fingers until they were raw and he could no longer feel the blue words upon them. Which took time; his skin had pruned under the constant stream of water, still tinged blue.

"You okay, Arch?"

Atlanta peered through the open doorway, staring inquisitively. With a sigh, he nodded, and twisted the tap and words off.

Brightly, she smiled.

He smiled back.

Words weren't necessary.


	74. Indigo

A/N: I hope by now you've figured out that I'm doing the colours of the rainbow, and I'm following the opening titles as their colours. Sorry for any confusion.

According to my calculations, the 300th review could be written on this story. That's quite exciting. I'll save the gushing for the next chapter? Yeah. I'll save it for then.

* * *

Indigo

_Dark blue, dark blue  
__Have you ever been alone inside a crowded room?_

* * *

The party was in full swing, the stroke of midnight only minutes away. Champagne glasses in hand, the room of people seemed to be like a hive; buzzes of conversation droned through the room.

Standing by the wall, alone, Theresa tried to keep her faked smile from falling off her face. Fiddling with the hem of her dress, she peered through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of her father. She'd spied him earlier, ducking out from the party to take a call. She wondered now if maybe he was still wrapped up in his work, even at his _work_ party. A party that she had come home for, much to Jay's discontentment.

Though she couldn't physically see her father, she sensed he was close. Letting her Sight guide her, she wandered to the food table. She found him; phone clenched against his ear and a torrent of angry words spilling from his mouth. He made a vague gesture of greeting to her, and then turned back into his conversation.

"_Daddy_." She bit her lip, but the word had already escaped. _Daddy_. The word burned in the air. And she was alone. In the crowd. She was alone.

_Daddy_.


	75. Violet

A/N: 300 REVIEWS! OH MY GOODNESS! I have no words. Well, actually, one word. Exhilarated. I am utterly exhilarated. Thank you all, so so much for making this happen.

Rare pairing in a 100 word drabble to celebrate? Why not? Also, this is the last of the "colour" themed ones. Enjoy!

* * *

Violet

_So if you love me, won't you let me know?_

* * *

_Archie's eyes are impossible!_

The thought came to Neil over a quiet table, featuring his gorgeous self and the team's resident moody warrior. Once it had pierced him, he couldn't let it go. The violet-grey irises were consumed by a plate of toast, unbeknownst to the prying gaze of his breakfast partner. They were so, so unusual, and Neil found himself consumed with the way those eyes were such a cacophony of stormy violet.

… those eyes, which were now rather cross, and scowling at him.

"Whatcha looking at?"

Maybe, for the first time in his ego-centric life, Neil blushed.


	76. Futures

A/N: A series of seven 100 word drabbles with the prompt 'Future'. This is also links to my stories Lights and Streets - be sure to check them out! Also, if you guys want to leave prompts for me to do, just do so. And thank you for reviewing!

* * *

Futures

* * *

_Odie, sweet, intelligent Odie. He'll be the scientist, the engineer, the doctor; someone that will discover something important that will change humanity._

* * *

Odie trudged between the supermarket aisles, inspecting prices and dates with single-minded determination. He thought of times when he could have shopped for groceries without money being a hassle, but those times were long past. Unemployment was like a maze; a maze of supermarket aisles and bills and newspaper advertisements.

He'd had three interviews in the past week alone. None of them had wanted him. Who in their right mind would employ an unimpressive twenty-something with no previous jobs and inconsistent school grades?

He sighed, and placed a can of beetroots back on the shelf. Science would have to wait.

* * *

_Jay will start his own sailing club. He'll pour his heart into the business and it'll pay off. He'll live his dream. _

* * *

Teaching boat parts to seven year olds was as appealing as it sounded. Jay stopped himself from smacking his forehead for about the fifth time in the past ten minutes. He glared the group down, and then pointed to the mainsail.

"Can _any_ of you tell me what this is called?" He'd given up on his hopeful tone weeks ago. Kids weren't getting any smarter.

One raised their hand nonchalantly. Fearing the worst, he gestured for the child to speak. The kid shrugged, fiddling with their oversized lifejacket.

"It is the steering wheel?"

This time, he allowed himself a face-palm.

* * *

_Herry? Who knows what he'll do. But he'll be brilliant in it. And he'll love every day he works, wherever it is. _

* * *

"Do you want another drink?" Herry muttered, trying to keep the boredom from filtering into his voice. From over the counter, the suited man shook his head.

Herry shrugged, glancing around the quiet bar. His shift was into its final hour, but the minutes dragged on and on. The fact that it was quiet, on a _Saturday_, didn't help. He knew that the lack of customers wasn't his fault, but his boss didn't see things that way; they were overstaffed as it was.

His shift finished at eleven, but as far as Herry was concerned, the job was already over.

* * *

_Atlanta won't back down. She'll be a Greenpeace worker, or a United Nations official. She'll save the future, one tree after another._

* * *

Atlanta glanced over her map and then back at her tour group. She mumbled something about the _trail not being far off_ in broken Brazilian, earning her a few confused smiles from around the small group.

Shrugged her backpack into a comfortable position, she ignored the stabbing feeling of her water bottle pressing into the small of her back. She took another long look at the map, and then glanced around at the overgrown, featureless jungle surrounding the group.

She pointed north. "I think it's that way." She muttered, reverting back to English, and began walking. The group followed hesitantly.

* * *

_Archie will eventually find something he doesn't despise. He'll settle into a job and be the quiet, reliable worker that is infallible._

* * *

"You gonna get up?"

Archie glared at the man; staring up at him from the floor. He ached, to his very bones. He was bruised too, more than he'd ever been in his whole life. Battered, bruised and tired. It was all he ever was these days.

But he stood anyway, shifting into a sparring stance. The man chuckled. "You don't know when to quit, do you?" he shook his head dismissively. "You're gonna kill yourself in these fights, my friend."

"Not if I can help it." Archie sneered, and raced at his fight partner, his punches and eyes wild.

* * *

_Theresa won't have money issues. She's got her whole life ahead of her, and her safety net behind her. She won't fall. _

* * *

Theresa dropped her newspaper angrily, scowling at yet another advertised rent house that was just outside what she was willing to fork out per week for a roof over her head. Why, why, why did living have to be so expensive?

She'd told her daddy that she was grown up now. _Independent_. She'd used that word. _Independent_. She didn't need him or his money. She had her own job and life. Supporting herself would be _easy_.

_Easy._ She laughed. She'd used that word, too. Surely she must have learnt by now that nothing, nothing at all, nothing was ever easy.

* * *

_Neil belongs to the world and the world belongs to Neil. It's his oyster, and he's the radiantly blonde, narcissistic, snarky pearl._

* * *

Neil knew as well as the next person that beauty, in all its fame and glory, did not last forever. It was flimsy, shallow and oh, so easily broken, like china. All it took was the slightest touch.

The wrinkle was almost inconspicuous in his cheek. Barely noticeable. But it was there, hidden in his smile. He could see it in his reflection; it glowed, almost. Sure, Neil was _radiant_, but this blemish upon his perfect skin… it wasn't perfect skin any more. It was wrinkling and sagging. Neil wasn't in his prime anymore; simple as that.

He'd grown old.


	77. Bored

A/N: Just a quick drabble; real life is hectic at the moment, and I'm trying to work on my other projects. Because I'm a silly, I'm writing more in the same universe as Streets and Lights, but because Lights didn't get the response I wanted, I'm not sure if I'll publish them here.

* * *

Bored

Gracelessly, Jay flopped onto the couch, muttering angrily. From over the top of his magazine, Neil eyed the teen with mild disdain. The Greek descendant swore again, rolling into a curled ball on the couch. Not a word passed between the two teens, as Jay lied stock-still, a murderous determination across his face as he stared into space.

"Are you going to sit there all day?" Neil finally burst out, his shrill voice earning him a filthy look from Jay. He glared back, scowling, wishing that Cronus would show his ugly hide. He'd been missing for weeks, and it seemed Jay was finally at breaking point.

"I'm bored!" Jay pouted, rolling over to face the back of the couch.

Neil tittered, returning his attention back to his magazine. "Go paint your nails, then."

"Not helping, Neil."


	78. Sunset

A/N: Another chapter, hooray! Thanks for all the reviews, as per usual, you guys are the best.

This is an outtake from my new story Irrespective, which will be published soon-ish.

Also, be sure to check out the new Chapter One. It's called 'Brownstone', and I've replaced the old first chapter because I didn't particularly like it. Eh.

* * *

Sunset

The sky was a multitude of colours; of pinks and reds, yellows and oranges. They danced and swirled across the horizon as the sun made its weary descent. The colours reflected off the old temples, basking the stone in a glowing hue. Crowds of tourists gathered for this sight every day, but for the two small figures seated by the main Angkor complex, the view was unparalleled.

Archie shifted uncomfortably, wiggling his body into a more comfortable position. Hard stone pressed into his back, and he grumbled angrily.

"Can we go soon?" he muttered to the small woman beside him.

Atlanta shook her head, taking none of her attention from the glowing sky. Her legs were crossed and she sat stock still, as she had been for the past twenty minutes. All her focus was on the sunset; her hazel eyes refused to peel themselves away from what they were witnessing.

"No," she murmured, sighing. "Just, relax. This is such a beautiful view, Archie."

The warrior scowled. "Beautiful, my ar-"

"_Arch_."


	79. Parent

A/N: Urgh, exposition stories. But I'm up to my eyeballs in a different project at the moment, so this really is the result of a desperate desire for a breather from said project.

Also, self-promotion. Check out Irrespective for some quality writing and serious wangst.

Now, who said I don't use your prompts? This came from an idea given to me all the way back in June. Hopefully this year, but probably last year. But hey, I got around to it!

* * *

Parent

Despite all her attempts at maintaining a normal-ish household, Athena was rubbish at being a parent. Squabbles were sorted at sword-point, and that was when she was in a good mood. Being a childless goddess, she didn't have the maternal instincts to deal with tantrums, name-calling, shower-hogging or even, Zeus forbid… laundry.

Being the goddess of wisdom, she wisely left parenting responsibilities to the mortals.

Neil embraced the job like he embraced all else; he neglected to notice anything with responsibilities attached, and ended up admiring himself in his mirror. Unless, of course, the team needed a thorough talk-to about their wardrobe choices. Neil was only too happy to coach his friends on that subject.

Atlanta and Archie point blank refused any parenting roles. Maybe it was an age thing. In any case, they were only too happy to play the children.

Theresa had her maternal moments. Her empathy knew no limits, and more than once, they were grateful for her constant compassion. But she was lost when it came to the harsher side of parenting; for someone who only saw the good in people, how could she be expected to scold her friends when they weren't behaving?

Odie and Herry, ever the platonic life partners, would have served as fine substitute parents, had they not been completely clueless on where to start.

And so, the teen that was the parent most often was Jay. He took his job far too seriously and this led to frustration from the rest at the best of times. Sometimes, though, he too had to be taken care of. Like the time he worked so hard and ignored a cold so it became a fever and he passed out during practice. He awoke to find himself in bed with Theresa curled on his one side, Atlanta on the other and Neil lying on the bottom of the bed and Herry and Odie in chairs. All of them were asleep.


	80. Sunday Morning

A/N: This was a fast update! Compensation for last week's wait? Sure. Especially since it's Maroon 5.

This is an outtake of Jay's story in my newest oneshot series. The story currently doesn't have a title, and it's about half-way complete.

So. Um. I'm good with angst. Now I'm also good with fluff. Enjoy?

* * *

Sunday Morning

_Sunday morning, rain is falling  
__Steal some covers, share some skin_

* * *

On Sunday morning, Jay was pulled from his dreams by gentle silence.

Tangled under the sheets with him, Theresa rested on his bare chest, still fast asleep.

His heart was thumping, beating proudly.

Something large and happy had unfolded in his chest, erupting in a smile that wouldn't desist. He couldn't remember ever feeling so light-hearted. Or was his heart full? Or bursting? Not aching – that was for sure.

"I love you." Jay murmured to the sleeping girl.

Naturally, she didn't respond. Silence pursued.

Jay had never heard a more eloquent silence.

He wondered if they'd ever have another moment like this. Just a single place in time where everything had come together to breathe in harmony. Where the gods and the rest of their friends couldn't penetrate their thoughts. Well, his, mostly. He brushed those thoughts aside, and instead devoted himself to watching his lover. He ignored the knowledge that while this Sunday morning was quite possibly the most breathtaking he'd ever had, even this moment couldn't last.

Time crept forward and he gathered all her restless strands of hair in his hands. The orange haired girl slept on.

She was dreaming of a month of Sunday mornings.

* * *

_Driving slow on Sunday morning  
__And I never want to leave_


	81. Warrior

A/N: Just a collection of small drabbles about Archie. I don't want to expand them because they're all complete, and it'd just be a waste of words. Anyway, it's mostly a character study type thing, with a lovely sentence prompt from a friend who insisted I had to do more Archie/Atlanta. Eh. Hope it's good!

Thanks for the reviews, and be sure to check out Lights and Irrespective.

* * *

Warrior

_You and I are here; wanderers in the morning._

* * *

You

Archie spends hours contemplating the words to say to Atlanta. Hours upon hours of jotting down words, crinkling and scrunching paper and chunking it haphazardly towards the bin. And repeating, constantly.

No combination of twenty-six different letters can ever accurately capture even a sliver of what his feelings are.

* * *

Here

Most of the time, Archie is convincing himself that he still has time to live, away from here. That the future is yet to come. But then, he has to remind himself that yesterday was once future too, and tomorrow will soon be past.

He still hasn't moved on from here.

* * *

Wanderer

If Archie knew where he will be going next, he will not indulge in so much cuddling, or reading all his books, trying to divine his future in pillowcases and stitched book-bindings. He loses himself in the small decisions of each day, only a little numb.

He is a wanderer. A man who says goodbye, minus the words, but never knows how to leave.

* * *

Morning

Archie falls in love with the morning. How Atlanta tumbles out of bed, tangles in sheets and her hair spilling across her forehead. Her eyes groan with exhaustion, while his lips steal the ending of her sentences.

The same morning, he falls in love with the way she eats her breakfast, and the way she asks Athena to put two spoonfuls of sugar in her coffee, but she actually means three.

And somewhere between falling in love with their midnight conversations, exhaled through moth breaths and interrupted with coffee stains, Archie realises he is in love with Atlanta's mannerisms, her voice, her words, her existence.

But he is not in love with her.


	82. Leader

A/N: So... there was a request of more chapters in the style of 'Warrior'. Your wish is my command!

Also, I'm thinking of writing a multi-chapter series three type story. There's a poll on my profile if you want to have a say there, or you can review here and say what you think of that.

Finally, be very excited because there's a Class of the Titans tumblr which is awesome! Not sure who's behind it, but they did a pretty cool review of Streets. EDIT: Check it out fyeahclassofthetitans dot tumblr dot com!

* * *

Leader

_Thieves know the price of everything_

* * *

Thieves

They stole moments and hid them under their sleeves.

A whisper in the corridors. A kiss behind doors.

They permitted themselves no more than a second's touch.

Jay felt like a thief every time he stole a kiss from Theresa. But, then again, he didn't mind paying the price. Not if it meant that they could have their moments, together, just every once in a while. A second or two of joy was worth the risk.

* * *

Know

From the moment Jay first saw Theresa, he knew he had to know her.

After he knew her, he knew he had to be with her.

After he was with her, he knew he had to love her.

Jay didn't know what would come after that. He didn't mind not knowing. Not knowing was like a state of constantly knowing, being with and loving. All at once. He wanted to spend the rest of his mortal life knowing-being-loving with her.

* * *

Price

He may have only had four dollars fifty in his pocket, but Jay knew the price of everything that mattered. Well, almost everything. Up until this moment, he hadn't known the price of the touch of his sword-beaten hands. Up until this moment, he'd assumed that the cost was small, and that he'd be willing to pay it.

But it wasn't small.

And he wasn't to pay it.

Theresa's hair fanned across the stretcher in a glowing contrast to the white of her cheeks. She bore no outward signs of the injury she'd sustained earlier in the day; that was a good sign, Chiron had assured them. Jay hadn't believed him. He still didn't. He'd only believe when the woman he loved finally opened her eyes. When he could no longer see his costs in her deathly pale face.

Theresa shouldn't have had to pay the price of his love.

* * *

Everything

He wanted to give her everything. But she already had everything. Who was he to know that when she said she had everything, she meant she had everything except for something worth cherishing.

So he gave her love. Just love. It was everything he had.


	83. Hunter

A/N: Continuing with the short drabbles, here's Atlanta, as promised. I'm not going to do all the team; Neil will be next, and then I'm back to different styles. For anyone who's reading, would you be opposed to a drabble in the style of 'Eternity'?

Be sure to review, and to check out the poll on my profile page, and the Class of the Titans tumblr.

* * *

Hunter

_I never want this feeling to end._

* * *

I

The word catches in her mouth, like a branch snagging at clothing.

"I-"

Archie's violet-grey eyes stare expectantly, waiting for the rest of the words to follow. She splutters them out in a stammered mess; he shifts awkwardly and asks her to repeat herself. Blushing now, more than a little embarrassed, the words finally escape, almost tripping over themselves in the rush to leave her mouth.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come skating later."

The teen nods eagerly, his eyes crinkling at their corners. _Archie smiles with his eyes_, she notes. _I like that._

_I like that a lot._

* * *

Never

Atlanta agreed to meet Archie in a small cafe he knew, just near the park. She'd never been there before.

She met up with him and they drank coffee. She'd never done that before.

They talked about their lives and she listened to his stories, hoping that he would bring up how much he missed her, or that she would pluck up the courage to tell him how much she missed him too. But neither of them could be that weak. They could never admit to that.

She never wanted to admit she missed him so much her bones ached.

* * *

Feeling

It started off as a feeling, which then became a hope.

It then grew into a thought, and then into a whisper.

A whisper reverberated into a murmur, locked inside their bedroom.

"I love you." Atlanta spoke, feeling the weight of her words and knowing that she had never before felt something so heavy.

* * *

End

"This is the end." He mused, smirking for the sake of normality. She could see that beneath the gesture, he was doing the Archie equivalent of weeping.

She hated seeing him upset. Worse still, when she couldn't _see_ him upset.

"This is just the start." She promised. Taking one final glance at the dorm, she wove her fingers between Archie's and set off into the street.


	84. Good Looking

A/N: Last of the shorter drabbles. Currently, I'm expanding on one of these below, called _Symphony_, and it'll be a much longer drabble. Almost a short fic, really. Not sure when it'll be finished.

I know it's a pain, but if I could get some more reviews on Irrespective, I'd be quicker in writing the next installment of that series. And thanks for all the reviews on this story!

* * *

Good Looking

_Every siren is a symphony, and every tear's a waterfall._

* * *

Siren

Surely she had to be a siren. How else could anyone be so alluring?

Neil wanted to kiss her, but only in the most connotative way possible, so that no dictionary definition would stand a chance to describe how his lungs could be filled with the sweetest air possible, and yet he could be so breathless.

* * *

Symphony

The sky erupted into a cacophony of sound; of lights and brightness so loud against the stars. Fireworks lit the sky ablaze, and his heart thumped erratically in his chest as the girl leaned against his shoulder. A thousand thoughts raced in his mind. Was she warm enough? How comfortable was his shoulder? Did his hair look perfect?

She sighed and settled, a smile painted on her lips. "This is perfect, Neil," she murmured. "Happy New Year's."

Her head came back to rest on his shoulder blades. Again, he wondered if she was comfortable. And he wondered if she could feel the love bleeding from his skin. But it didn't matter. Not tonight. His hair could be imperfect for all he cared. Under the boom of the fireworks, listening to her breaths, the sounds drowned Neil in voiceless beauty.

The whole world was a symphony, and there was no enough of him to listen.

* * *

Tear

"It's okay to be a little sad sometimes, Neil." He told himself, staring his reflection in the eye. He didn't meet the burning gaze of the small letter tossed onto his bed.

"Everyone gets rejected." He continued. But then he stopped. Why was he trying to cover up the fact that he, _Neil_, had been rejected from the city's most exclusive modeling agency? Surely he could allow himself just one little tear, just to prove that it was okay to be a little sad, just sometimes.

It would do him good to stop pretending everything was okay and just be real. Just once. Just one little tear.

* * *

Waterfall

The tears started and did not stop.

It was as if a well had been upturned; they fell from his eyes in waterfalls, crashing onto his cheeks in a fury. Angry, hot tears that gave way to a cool trickle and raking robs.

He had to admit it, though. The deep blue of his irises were even more beautiful whilst in waterfall.


	85. Biography

A/N: You guys should know me well enough that I ship NeilxNeil with all my heart, but I also don't mind AtlantaxNeil. So, here's some. Enjoy!

* * *

Biography

Neil woke on Sunday morning much later than he normally would have. In the state between sleep and consciousness, he cursed himself for his laziness. Mornings were a precious commodity, after all. Mornings were an exclusive time between him and the temple that was his body. He yawned, daring himself to hold onto the dreamstate for a few more moments, just to remain in the solidarity of his bed for the rest of the morning. But there was no holding onto that now.

As he became more awake, he realised that his bed was not as empty as he had previously thought.

His eyes blinked into focus, taking in the shock of fiery red hair spilled across the pillow on the other side of his bed. She was tucked into him; his arms around her, holding her close. Her floral perfume tickled his nose, and her faint snores danced in his ears.

_Atlanta._

_Oh gods._

_Oh sweet Zeus._

Memories flooded back to him. Herry's birthday, up on the rooftop the previous night. Athena had been nowhere to be seen. Jay was largely inhibited after obligatory shots and Theresa's influence quite early on, leaving no voice of reason from eleven thirty onwards. Neil remembered suggesting, after consuming copious amounts of alcohol, he and Atlanta retire to his room. The memories stopped there, but he was old enough to fill in the blanks. His body was also not fussed with joining the dots.

Despite Atlanta being one of his closest friends, this seemed to be a good thing. They were _teenagers_, for Zeus' sake. Surely they were allowed to have drunken nights without his moral conscious rearing its head. Surely sleeping with a friend could be looked over. There was no future in it, no emotions.

And yet... it was dangerous; the way his arms fit perfectly around her ribcage.

_Don't think about it, Neil._

_Don't go falling for her._

He carefully extracted one arm, wincing as his bed partner shifted in her sleep. Knowing that he probably wouldn't see the huntress from this angle again, he took a moment to brush her fringe from her forehead, and planted a kiss on her shoulder, just above a small pinkish scar nestled there. Probably from a skirmish with Cronus.

Her skin was so soft, as he kissed it, he felt her story. While his body was a flawless temple, Atlanta's was incredibly marked. He knew that if he hunted further, he'd find more blemishes across her skin. Probably a whole lot more inside of her, too. He didn't mind. Every scar and scratch was a chapter in her story, and it could be read, page to page.

It occurred to him that bodies were less like temples and more like biographies. They carried all the broken hearts, false hopes and the cobwebs, neatly marked by the veins and tendons. There was a whole history tucked away in the spaces between a person's ribs and collarbones.

_You're falling for her. _

_And you want to read her story._

After making this realisation, for once in his life, Neil wanted to immerse himself in a biography other than his own.


	86. Jealous

A/N: This is set in the early days of the gang moving to New Olympia. Don't you just love initial tension? Also, I'm not sure if I've made it clear in other chapters, but I have a very modern stance on relationships. You'll see what I mean.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Jealous

Archie couldn't pinpoint why exactly he'd taken a disliking to Theresa. Surely it couldn't have just been her daddy's-girl-brat visage that irked him - he was used to dealing with that sort of pretentiousness. It could have been the fact that she was a better fighter than him. Not that he'd admit to it. And that probably wasn't it, either. If it was, there would be a lot more people that ticked him off. He'd learnt a long time ago that while he was a competent street fighter, he wasn't invincible. Nowhere near it.

He watched her now as she flicked her stupid orange hair over her shoulder, laughing as she ate her stupid breakfast. What was so good about raisin toast, anyway?

_Morning people_. He scowled.

Sitting in the chair next to the redheaded psychic, Jay was waving his arms energetically in an impersonation of… a Stymphalian Bird? Archie glared Theresa moved closer to their leader, touching her fingers to his shoulder. She whispered something in his ear - words Archie couldn't hear - and Jay smiled. Ruffling his hair for good measure, the girl laughed again and announced that she was going to get ready for school.

Archie's scowl deepened, and he returned to his bowl of cereal with renewed intensity.

He heard the scraping of a chair along the floor, but he didn't look up.

"Archie?"

"What?" he said irritably, attacking the cornflakes with his spoon.

Jay made a wounded noise. "Nothing. Don't bite my head off." The leader walked to the sink, rinsing his coffee mug and plate. "Mind helping me with the washing up?" he called to Archie, throwing a tea towel at the younger teen before he could answer.

Grudgingly, Archie caught the tea towel. Jay smirked as he made his way to the sink. For his part, Archie ignored the stupid grin and concentrated on the washing up.

When the job was done, he made to leave the kitchen. A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to meet Jay's eyes, a curious expression on his face.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Jay asked lowly. "You've been off, these past few weeks. What's going on, Arch?"

"Nothing." He retorted quickly. Probably too quickly.

Jay sighed, pinching his nose. "I know you and Theresa have been at each others' throats lately. Do you want to explain that?"

He shrugged. "She's not my favourite person in the world."

"Why's that?" Jay asked slowly.

"I… I just don't want you to get hurt." He made a special point not to meet Jay's eyes. "She's probably not that into you. I mean, she gets everything she wants and then she'll just tell you to get lost-"

"Theresa's not like that."

He dragged his eyes away from the floor and met Jay's stony gaze. The older teen's eyes were hard, but underneath, they were livid.

"What's all this about, Arch?" He crossed his hands over his chest, a hardened expression on his face. "Why do you care?"

"Like you don't know." Archie muttered. He wasn't sure he knew either, but it seemed like the right thing to say. His heart was pounding in his chest, like it could have exploded at any second.

Jay studied him for a few moments. Archie refused to look away now. He dared not. His thoughts were jagged, and his heart was thumping still, so loud Jay must have heard it too.

"I'm going to get ready for school," Jay announced, eventually, exasperated. He strode past Archie, disappearing out of the kitchen. He heard the leader thumping up the stairs, up into the hallway.

Archie sighed, breathing slowly.

Breath in. Breath out.

His thoughts were jagged, slowing as he concentrated on breathing. Jay's anger and Theresa's laughter eventually faded from his mind, until he was alone, in the kitchen, probably very late for school. He didn't care about the later, but he knew that sooner or later, he'd have to address what the hell had happened between Jay and him.

He didn't get it. He couldn't wrap his dork head around why his heart thumped so brutally around his tousle-haired leader, or why Theresa's empathy bothered him so much. So why was it such a big deal?

_Why do you care?_

Oh.

The thought hit him like a train.

And suddenly, everything clicked into place. He understood now, why he was behaving in this way. Why he'd been off the past couple of weeks. Why he felt different whenever Jay was around, and why he felt so damn irritated when Theresa entered the room. Now that he realised, it was so simple, he wondered why he hadn't realised until now.

He cared. About Jay. He cared about Jay.

He cared in a way that wasn't right for friends.

And Jay couldn't reciprocate, because his heart was already full of Theresa.

"Everything is shit." He announced to the empty kitchen. The kitchen didn't respond, save for the low humming of the fridge, and the noises of the city, leaking in from the window opened above the sink. What condolences could the kitchen offer, anyway?_ Sorry that you're infatuated with someone who isn't infatuated with you. Apologies that you're jealous._

"I'm not _jealous_!" He slammed his hand onto the countertop.

"Archie?"

He spun around, blushing. Theresa peered in from the doorway, her green eyes taking him in shrewdly. He shrugged. People talked to themselves all the time.

He met her eyes.

Grey on green.

The psychic's expression softened. _She knew_. He knew it. He could see it in her eyes. She'd seen his infatuation, his anger, his damn _jealousy_.

"We both can't have him," she murmured.

"I know."

He knew Jay would choose her. He was also selfish enough to consider, just for a moment or so, putting up more of a fight. But who was he to fight a fighter?

He was cutting his losses.

He was letting go.

Theresa nodded, a sense of finality in the gesture. The psychic peered at him for a moment; he felt her mind pressing into his, reaching into his carefully guarded thoughts. Mentally, he pushed her out. She shrugged, taking a few steps back.

"I'll see you at school, Arch." She smiled, a little sad.

He nodded. A beat, a sigh, and then;

"Mind if I walk with you?"

Theresa looked up, a little surprised, which quickly faded to a smirk.

"Who said anything about walking?" She twirled her car keys on her index finger, grinning.

Archie couldn't help but return the smile.


	87. War

A/N: Another bit of time between updates. Apologies. I'm thinking of expanding this into a three parter. Any takers? I'm also thinking of getting started on the series three fic. However, according to the poll, there isn't too much interest in it. Please vote, because I'm not going to publish it if it's not going to be read.

This is heavily inspired by Marcus Zusak's _The Book Thief. _Read it, love it, and cry lots. Enjoy!

* * *

War

"There's a war coming."

Ares speaks out of the corner of his mouth, staring down the horizon. His companion notes the anger in the god's gaze, and smiles. He's come to like the company of the god of war. Maybe he's just grown accustomed to him. He's spent more time in the god's company in the last few centuries than he has in millennia.

The figure surveys the sky, taking in the tops of the buildings, glowing in the sunrise. He can feel a pull towards the houses already; to the souls inside. Some hide away. Some are crying. Some are calling his name.

"I must be off." He announces.

Ares shrugs gruffly; a parting gesture. "Keep in touch, my friend."

Thanatos smiles at the irony. "You too, my _friend."__  
_

They part. Ares returns to the other gods. Thanatos enters the city, slipping between buildings and streets, into the crowds. Cries tug at him. Words ring in his ears.

_Friend._

It really isn't that ironic.

War and death are the best of friends.


	88. Death

A/N: A continuation of the last chapter. I've decided to make this into a three parter as offered. Again, hugely inspired by _The Book Thief_. _  
_

I've been keeping an eye on the poll, but there doesn't seem to be that many people interested in a series three fic. If the poll gets more votes, I'll look at writing it. If not, that's fine.

I'm about to publish a new story - a continuation of Irrespective. Be sure to check it out!

Enjoy.

* * *

Death

Thanatos collected souls. It was just a job. He wished people would get over it. He could be amicable; he didn't want to be loved, but he wished they'd quit their angry tirades. Negotiations were a matter for Hades, not him. He didn't cause the deaths. It was just a job.

He was only in it for the words. The stories.

Souls were books and he would read them all, cover to cover. He'd caress each page and drink the words, savouring them sweetly and then passing them onto Hades. Only the beautiful stories he'd keep with him. The rest would be placed on a shelf; remembered, but not needed.

Seven beautiful stories came to him in their own time.

_(Contrary to popular belief, Thanatos didn't come to people. He was sent to them. Some were struggling when he arrived. Others greeted him as an old friend. He liked the second group best. He didn't feel as lonely when he was treated with warmth._

_Even he had a heart.)_

The first he picked up in a torrent of rain. The warrior died in a crowd, but in truth, he'd died alone. He welcomed death as Thanatos picked up his soul. He'd scolded the warrior for that; heroes shouldn't have been calling out to him. But secretly, he was immensely curious. He'd met the descendants while they were alive, and now in death, with a little more experience under their belts, he wanted to know their stories.

There was beauty in tragedy. He'd moved Thanatos. Both their hearts had been stirred that night.

He collected the next two decades later, within a few years of each other and at opposite sides of the world. The smaller man's soul sat up and chatted with him as they travelled down to Hades. His story was curled at the edges; quirky and fun, but beautiful.

_(The other soul had sassed at him for the entire journey, and criticised his choice of clothing.)_

A fourth soul was collected six years after the previous. Thanatos had been slapped on the back heartily, rattling his bones from the man's strength. The soul regarded him as a friend, and told him that he'd put aside old grievances. Thanatos chuckled and remembered when the man was alive, and he'd been put in chains. Even back then, he knew the man would have a beautiful story by the time he died.

Half the century was over. A huntress held onto her life with desperation. He collected her, soothing the soul, telling her that there was no need to be afraid. She settled on his shoulder for the journey and told him her story. So much beauty, once she got over her apprehension.

_(He was used to the apprehension. Not too many wanted to go with him. Mortals clung to life like Autumn leaves to trees. They all had to fall eventually.)_

Thanatos waited patiently until he was summoned to the leader. The man, now old and greyed, sat up and smiled, brown eyes twinkling in the starry night. His soul was star-studded and tousled with sea breeze, and darkness, so pure. Unmistakable beauty. He'd tried to cling onto life a few more years. The captain had to be the last to leave the ship, he'd said. Thanatos smiled at his bravery.

The soul's stars were fading as they left the body. The night sky was alive with Death and his one-way companion. Thanatos escorted the soul personally into Hades. He liked this one. He even allowed himself to be clasped on the shoulder, to be told goodbye, and to watch the soul step into Hades, never to return.

_(The leader had asked him to watch over the last of his team, seeing as he couldn't in death. Thanatos loved this. Only a man like he would ask the god of death to keep an eye on someone.)_

Six down. One to go.

So few stories left.

The century had just passed when he walked up the long drive, marked by a neat row of trees and gravel. She'd done well for herself, in the end. Fortune had favoured her family, it seemed. Thanatos took a moment to admire the flowers by her window as she passed, and slipped inside unnoticed. The orange-haired girl (woman, he corrected himself, smiling at a past story) saw him as her eyes closed; a final vision.

_(He wanted to ask her if she saw him coming._

_She only smiled and tapped her temple, winking.)_

Her story was filled with beauty and sorrow. Of streets and lights, and loneliness and love. He delivered her quickly, too consumed with the words of her story to withstand it all. Once she'd left, he wept.

Death wept.

All stories moved him.

Precious few were beautiful.

Seven made him cry.

Hades had asked him if he was okay. He'd nodded, feebly muttering something about onions. The joke had been lost on the god; Hades had shaken his head irritably and given him a set of places. More souls to collect. More stories.

Thanatos wiped away the last of his tears, sighed, and left. There was work to be done.

There was always work to be done.


	89. Understand

A/N: Lately I've been inundated with messages about me considering not continuing to write. I appreciate the messages, but as I have said in them, it's something that I've been thinking about for a while now. I'm going to take a break after Christmas and then reassess where I'm going.

Here's a 100 word drabble. Enjoy.

* * *

Understand

There were many things that Herry didn't understand; the foremost being himself.

Everyone else knew who they were or who they were going to be. He'd been plain, understandable Herry for so long, and he didn't understand why. Herry wondered how it was that everyone else could change, but he remained the same. _Constant_. He was a constant while everyone else was in perpetual fluctuation.

He couldn't make his friends understand. He couldn't make anyone understand what was happening inside him; he couldn't even explain it to himself.

Herry was just different. It was not something that needed understanding.


	90. Christmas

A/N: Merry Christmas! I know it's not Christmas yet for a lot of you, but here in Australia there's eight hours to go (not that I'm counting down!). I thought that a 500 word drabble would be an adequate Christmas present to all of you, as well as some news.

I'll be writing the series three fic! Stay tuned! And again, Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

* * *

Christmas

Christmas Eve at the dorm wasn't an event they'd had the chance to celebrate until now. The previous two years, Cronus had taken the opportunity to wreak havoc, and as such their Christmas plans had been cancelled. Both times, they'd sworn that the next year, they'd do something special, just as a team. Maybe it was down to Neil's luck, but their latest tussle with the god had only ended hours before, leaving them exhausted, but desperate for a team-only night. Too tired to climb the stairs, they'd pulled out the sofa bed and piled onto the small mattress.

It was now 11:47 PM and they were swept with exhaustion, and yet only Jay couldn't manage to fall asleep. He had warned them that the size of the lounge, even when unfolded and transformed into a sofa bed, wouldn't be generous to accommodate for all seven of them. But, that night, he was learning that less space between all of them was better.

Tangled together as they were, a jigsaw puzzle of teenagers, Jay felt strangely comfortable. And connected, too. If he wiggled his toes, he'd disturb Neil, who was using his feet as a pillow, and disrupt Herry, who'd curled in a ball in the bottom right corner of the makeshift bed. One of the teen's muscled arms had been borrowed by Odie, who slept silently on the large bicep, a content expression on his small face, despite being sandwiched between Jay and Atlanta, who had naturally found her way to the edge of the sofa. Even in her sleep, she was fearless – a trait copied by Archie. The warrior was sprawled on the opposite side of the mattress, one arm dangling off the edge, and his feet intertwined with Neil's sleeping form. And pressed between Archie and himself, her hair fanned under her, Theresa slept quietly.

His team had drifted into sleep, and he remained awake. Watching them all, he realised he had no desire to sleep, not due to lack of exhaustion (because, in truth, he was fatigued beyond reason), but because he'd never seen them so… unguarded. Laid out before him were six teenagers at their most vulnerable, most human states.

The spattering of snow and the heavy exhalation of Herry's snoring was soon his favourite soundtrack. Every inch of his jigsaw puzzle team was so perfect, so peaceful. But it was the way that it all seemed so perfect to him that even a novel of description couldn't suffice. How could he describe the way that seven teenagers could somehow fit on a sofa designed for three, and while they were squeezed together, he liked the way they'd filled every space available? Or how a part of him would shut down when Theresa's gentle breaths tickled his eardrum?

No matter how far into his dreams he strayed that night, Jay would never forget a single detail, because that was the moment he knew that all he wanted for Christmas was _them_, just as they were.


	91. Exit Wounds

A/N: Just a quick Jay/Theresa drabble, nothing major. This may be the last you guys hear from me for a bit, as I'm heading off on holiday for a while.

This is inspired by _Exit Wounds_ by The Script. I've had a bit of a love-affair with them of late. Enjoy!

* * *

Exit Wounds

_I'm dying, dying, from these exit wounds._

* * *

Jay had been bleeding good intentions from the moment he first saw Theresa. Almost instantly, he wanted to kiss her because her lips looked like they could use company. Not _his_ company in particular, but any company. Her lips were made of loneliness, and they called to him from across the room. He'd lost himself in their siren call.

_A nick._

Then they spoke. And he grew to respect the girl he had initially desired for a brief moment of physical intimacy. But he had to take a step back. Told himself that she was off limits. That he was her leader, and he was tasked with protecting her, and the rest of his team. He couldn't place her above them. And at that moment, he only wanted her as a friend.

_A mild cut._

As time enclosed, his heart had disobeyed him as it had expanded from devouring every enamouring quality she allowed him to take in with every sensory capability he had. His heart needed reprimanding, for he had pinpointed the shade of her green irises, and locked to memory the exact way her teeth bit down on her bottom lip when she was nervous. He hated his body and heart for betraying him. But he loved her too, too much.

_An open wound…_

Which was now too obvious to ignore as he bled carelessly onto the floor before him, like spilled ink. And now it was far too deep to heal. No bandage, no cure.

He'd driven himself mad replaying the moment he began to love her inside his head.

All he knew was that it hurt. Maybe he should have kissed her instead.


	92. Cards

A/N: I've been doing some thinking, these past few weeks. To be honest, I'm not sure if I will continue to write on Fanfiction once Sleepless Demeanours is finished. I have tried to get into the headspace of returning to multi-chapter writing, but it's not working as well as I'd hoped. And I wouldn't dare publish anything I wouldn't be 100% happy with. Real life is also rearing it's ugly head again, and I dunno if I'll be around much this year. Eh. I'll see how things go.

This is my first attempt at a "one sentence" type thing. I'm not a complete perfectionist so not every one is exactly one sentence, but I've tried so there. Enjoy!

* * *

Cards

* * *

(Clubs)

* * *

She can remember every detail of their first meeting – the sweat clinging to the sides of his face, the fierce determination in spite of being outnumbered, splattered with fists and childish stupidity, the proud and haughty way he holds himself with a softer glint in his eye. Even then, he manages to intrigue her.

* * *

In his thoughts, he categorises people – short, tall, muscular, thin, dangerous, complacent – but when he meets her, he's got no idea where to place the orange haired standover girl. He settles on dangerous, but for all the wrong reasons.

* * *

She can't believe her weird luck (to have met such people, all in one day!), but it's the sight of the purple haired fighter, the little warrior boy, that starts her heart pumping in a most peculiar way.

* * *

He wants to speak, to make the sentences flow, but for some reason he can't, so he's left standing before her, painfully swallowing a mouthful of words he's too afraid to say. Instead, he turns to his faithful anger, and unleashes that.

* * *

She's falling in love with the stories Jay tells; how his hands move when he speaks, how his eyes are ablaze and so animated – they're so different to the storm front that inhabits Archie's eyes, which were so cold they left her shivering.

* * *

Two doors, a hallway and a flight of stairs separate their rooms at night, but in his dreams, she's closer than ever and for the first time, he feels like a teenager.

* * *

"I've never felt this way before," she assures her reflection, still giddy and high on the emotions Jay seems to throw off.

* * *

He pretends he isn't listening when she knocks on Jay's door; pretends he isn't listening when she whispers a goodnight – but he can't pretend he isn't looking when she kisses him goodnight, and can't pretend that his lips don't shiver with desire for a kiss that isn't for him.

* * *

The air conditioning in the school has broken down, and the hidden wing is smouldering under the midsummer heat. She catches a glimpse of him, his sleeves rolled up to the shoulder, dripping in sweat, diligently training in the distance, and wonders if he's trying to kill himself.

* * *

(Spades)

* * *

She's never told him that there's something about the way he treats her with such unkempt anger that makes her realise she wants to help him, and she doesn't understand why.

* * *

Atlanta isn't a romantic person, and Archie pretends he isn't either, and yet he wants someone to shower with affections and love, because it's the way that he wants to express his love.

* * *

She is willing to bend over backwards for Jay, while he refuses to change for anyone but himself – he doesn't tell her that if she asks, he will consider adjustment, just for her.

* * *

It takes a few months, but eventually Atlanta comes to realise that while she has red hair, it was the orange haired girl he seeks, and quietly tells him that it's over.

* * *

The dorm was on edge in the weeks after his breakup, and he secretly wishes that Theresa will break it off with Jay, but he's too much of a chicken to say it to her face.

* * *

He can't find her and spends half the afternoon tracking her down on Jay's insistence – he eventually finds her in the cemetery at her mother's grave, watching the dry petals of long forgotten flowers flutter about. She whispers something as he arrives that he will never forget; "This is where we'll all be someday."

* * *

"We could do something tonight," he offers, but they've both got other plans – she's got training with Persephone, and he's going to the movies with the boys – but he wishes that he could be in two places at once.

* * *

"Archie," she whispers and places her hand on his cheek just for a moment, and it poisons his dreams for nights to come, like cyanide dripping bit by bit into his sleep.

* * *

He doesn't dare hope that she'll take his affections seriously; sometimes, not even he can comprehend what it is that he's feeling – a lie, a truth, or everything at once.

* * *

There is no written law that states she cannot love two people, and if there is, she will point out that her loves are so vastly different and untouching, and she doesn't care anyway – she loves Jay as a boy of independence, and she loves Archie as a boy of intrigue.

* * *

(Diamonds)

* * *

He is new at feeling; he's never had anyone to whisper words of meaning to, and yet her eyes seem so able to drink in declarations of love, and he loves her for it.

* * *

"Back off," the older boy warns him, staring him down – Archie just shrugs and walks away, knowing that while he is the one retreating, he's not going to back down.

* * *

She pulls him aside after training and tells him that she needs space to think, to sort out her problems with Jay, because she wants things to work between herself and the Greek descendant, and not him.

* * *

"What about me?" he presses, staring into her green eyes. "Don't you love me too, Theresa?"

* * *

"I don't know," she whispers.

* * *

It's over between her and Jay after another few weeks, and yet Archie can't look her in the eye, can't talk to her, because his stupid guilt keeps seeing the panic in her green orbs when he asked her if she loved him.

* * *

She barely speaks to him these days; he's a shadow, and she's the sun and that's just the way she has to see things because nothing good can come of it.

* * *

He tells her that he doesn't regret any of his decisions, but she can't help but wonder if it's that distant remorse that holds him back from truly needing affection.

* * *

He says he fears nothing (apart from the occasional pool of water), and assumes she is the same, but all it takes is a stab to the stomach and a night in Chiron's study. When he wakes, he sees her sleeping form slumped in a chair, and the fear creeping from her closed eyes.

* * *

(Hearts)

* * *

Days, weeks, months – they all escaped by, but he was her constant; that one solid thing she could expect never to desert her.

* * *

She kisses him only once, and that's all it takes to sear his lips and outstretch his arms, pulling her back to him – this time, he kisses her.

* * *

There's a singular rose on her pillow when she wakes up; she knows it's from him, because there's grey around the edges of the petals, and it's cold when she touches it.

* * *

The books all say that honesty is what makes a relationship strong, but he begs to differ; he knows that if she knew all his secrets, she'd leave him, never to look back. So he holds them close to his chest, locked with a key he threw away and buried years ago.

* * *

It's strange; he knows this love can't last, yet he acts like it will – they waste moments as if they have an eternity to spend with each other, hiding themselves, hiding their hearts.

* * *

Everyone knows about their… affections, everyone knows that they've been entangling themselves with each other, but no one speaks it aloud. It's worry, it's fear, and it's a strange, surreal feeling that if two of the team are lax enough to be distracted, well, then so are they.

* * *

She's never able to fully give herself to Archie, and they both feel it – an absence of a whole, a half-used heart – but neither of them says anything.

* * *

There is a point of no return, and it's too bad he's used up all his fuel just getting to it and it's too bad that he's spent all he can spend on just reaching her – perhaps he should have saved a part of him for the return journey.

* * *

Breaking up is always ugly, in their case especially, because it never really happened – they still tried, they still begged themselves to attempt one more time to give themselves wholly to the other, but it was not to be.

* * *

He blames it on the war, blames it on every defeat, blames it on Jay, blames it on Atlanta, blames their split on what could not have been avoided, while she blames no one but herself.

* * *

(The Joker)

* * *

He will die, she will die, the wood of their respective coffins will be nailed shut and buried for eternity, and the world will never know what they were beyond names and words on gravestones. Their love was never meant to last forever; this was the truth from the beginning – a house of cards, waiting to collapse.


	93. Kiss

A/N: I have a lot of Archie/Atlanta feels right now. They're so... unf. I can't really explain it. So, have a 500 word drabble about them.

Also, I'm beginning work on that series three fic that I've been talking a lot about. The first bit shall be up in the next few days. Are you guys excited? I'm excited! Enjoy!

* * *

Kiss

"Is it true?" Archie smirked, packing away his sparring gear.

"That you're a dork?" Atlanta retorted without missing a beat. She grinned at her companion, throwing the last of the heavy gloves at the purple-haired descendant. He caught it, scowling.

"I meant, is it true that Neil asked you to go shopping with him or whatever?"

Atlanta shrugged off the question. "Why? You jealous?"

"I never said-"

It was with both relief and disappointment that Atlanta watched Archie trip and fall over one of Herry's weights. She smirked at him, chuckling at his clumsiness, and wished that the others had been there to see one of the rare occasions were Archie's awkwardness appeared as a physical manifestation.

On the floor, Archie laughed. Then he closed his eyes, clenching them hard. She waited for his eyes to open again, but after a couple of moments, she rushed over and crouched above him.

"Are you alright, Archie? Archie?"

His eyes flew open and his laughter returned. "Gotcha." But the laughter faded as his upward gaze focused on Atlanta's face, on her lips. He knew what he wanted, and he knew that many times, he had wanted to kiss her as badly as he did now. He just never had the courage. Maybe this time he had a chance.

But this wasn't about taking chances.

This was about getting what he wanted, what he needed.

He threw his caution to the wind, letting a plead escape his lips that the only girl he'd ever had eyes for in his life could fulfil.

"Kiss me, Atlanta."

If shock was audible, it must have sounded like the fast intake of a breath, breathed in a nearly-empty gym.

"What?"

"Kiss me." He repeated, his voice wavering.

Atlanta remained seemingly frozen, crouching over him. There had been times she wanted to kiss him too; wanted to know what his lips felt like pressed against hers – her best friend's lips! She'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't go there; she _couldn't_ go there, he was her best friend, he was her Archie, and it'd be awkward and not worth pursuing.

But in the moment, the deserted room, the scent of his breath mingling with hers – it was horrifyingly beautiful.

Crouched over him with nothing lingering in the air between them but the sound of their heavy breaths, Atlanta wondered what it would be like to kiss him, right there and then. A debate ruled in her mind as their lips inched towards each other. A part of her desperately screamed out a warning against such action, but a larger part within her – a voice that was awakening – urged her on.

The kiss was a soft brush against each other's lips until Atlanta felt the need to pull away.

However, Archie's hand, slowly reaching out, trembling as he held the back of her neck and held it in place, was a desperate plead for her to stay.

(She didn't know Archie was a hopeless romantic.

She kinda liked it.)


	94. Strategy

A/N: Warning. Here there be crack. And by that I mean probably too much humour and not much plot. But eh, this story needs some light hearted relief before the end. Speaking of the end of this story (it will be concluding with the 100th chapter), please tell me if there's anything that you want to see before the end. A pairing, a theme, anything! Just let me know by reviewing.

On a different note, this chapter marks two years to the day that this story was published. Can you believe it?! I can't!

Also, be on the look out for my series three fic. I'm publishing the prologue... now!

Oh, and another warning, this time for language. Kiddies, if you don't like minor swearing... close your eyes?

* * *

Strategy 

The entire table was deadly silent.

Each pair of eyes was locked upon the ones across from them, searching to discover who was friend, and who was foe. Who could be trusted, and who couldn't. Everyone was close to victory; they could each feel it in their grasp. Only one could achieve it. A firm mask was settled onto each face, because to show emotion was to lead to inevitable defeat.

And it was Jay's turn. He looked up from his hand and glanced at the people around him. Archie on his right and Theresa on his left, both wearing impenetrable shells of poker face. His eyes danced over the four cards remaining in his hand, though one of the cards called to him more than the others. He knew that he shouldn't; that to play that card would leave his defences at minimum and allow Archie to conquer.

But he couldn't stop himself. This was serious business. A slight quirk of the lips, a glance at everyone at the table, an anxious tap of a finger. He was ready.

"DRAW FOUR MOTHERFUCKER!"

He threw the card down with triumph, shimmying a little as he high fived himself in an all too self-satisfied manner.

The eyes in the room shifted uneasily to Theresa, whose jaw twitched noticeably. Jay was now a foe to the orange haired girl.

She would show no mercy.

Silently, Theresa picked up four cards with a heavy hand that didn't go unnoticed. She had half a mind to cut Jay off for the rest of the week for his antics, but she knew that this game happened to be one of the few things that got the Greek boy's mind off Cronus. She would let the matter slide – after the game, of course. This was serious business after all.

"The colour is red." Jay declared, oblivious to the look in Theresa's eye.

Neil exhaled a breath. Both because he got to avoid Theresa's wrath (and, in turn, keep his hair in pristine condition), and because he actually had a red card. His last red card. And to Jay's complete and utter dismay, it was a reverse.

Theresa could sense the fear.

"What's the matter, Jay? Can dish it but you can't take it?" She leaned forward with a sort of dark joy lighting her eyes. She slowly dropped a single card from her hand.

"Draw four. Motherfucker." She called softly.

Jay could see the evil in her eyes and wisely remained silent. He picked up the cards wearily.

Now it was Archie's turn. Everyone was sceptic when the warrior mulled over his cards. He had only two, and that fact alone had all the players on edge. Archie was the hardest to read.

Smirking, he glanced beside him at Atlanta with a sort of kindly expression no one else had the courtesy of receiving, and returned his glance to Theresa, silently daring her to call out the wrong colour. With entirely feigned confidence, she announced,

"Yellow."

Archie dropped a card, and as soon as it hit the table, with a cool, unfazed voice he spoke the word no one wanted to hear unless coming from themselves.

"Uno."

They had all learned from countless other times that merely saying 'One' did not count.

Odie felt a little guilty for teaching them that.

The card Archie played was a simple card; a plain yellow three. It was obvious that since the beginning he was going easy on the hunter sitting beside him, but no one took notice – they were all too busy, foaming at the mouth, to change the colour.

Atlanta played indifferently played a nine, and Herry an ill thought out reverse. Everyone stared desperately at Atlanta, who couldn't leave her friends in such a predicament. But she felt torn that she had to be the one to stop the grinning purple haired warrior.

"I'm sorry, Arch…" Atlanta, who knew he had no red cards, used her saved wild card to call the new colour red.

Archie waved it off with a smile. In the heat of battle, no one took notice to the gesture. Archie grabbed the top card and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Would you look at that…!"

He played the new card, and it was another wild. Odie had half a mind to take all the wild cards and hide them from the next game, but that would be the move of a _bad sport_. Not that he minded. This game was serious business.

"Uno, again." Archie smirked. "The colour is now… green."

Jay smiled. If they just avoided that colour, everything would be just fine. He would've told everyone that out loud, but for one of the sworn rules of any card game –

_No talking across the table._

He was forced to pick up until he got a green card, placing it onto the large and steadily accumulating pile of played cards.

Theresa understood what needed to be done, and placed a blue six on top of Jay's green one. It was a good card choice as any, as the colour hadn't been played more than twice in the entire game. Neil and Odie continued with that colour, as well as Herry and Atlanta.

This was it.

Archie's face looked frustrated as he beat his hand irritably on the table top. Everyone exhaled their breaths. And then, Archie's face faded from frustration to accomplishment.

He flicked the blue card out of his hand and stood slowly, basking in the sweet success of his victory.

"Hey, wait a minute! You said green when you chose the colour!" Odie accused, having to raise his voice to be heard over Herry's loud groans of defeat and the equally loud sound of his fist hitting the table top in agony – the table's agony, that was, as they were all showered in wood splinters from a hole in the table roughly the size of Herry's fist.

"Strategy is the key in war." Archie replied smugly. "And I am a warrior."


	95. Dalliance

A/N: Firstly, thank you for the wonderful response to my new story; it's so great to see that people like my writing!

Secondly, thank you to everyone who voted for me in the Class of the Titans Fanfiction Awards! Streets particularly cleaned up a few awards, and Sleepless Demeanours won the Best Drabble Series! And I won the Best Author! You guys; I can't. You don't know how _happy_ I am. So thank you for making my whole week. Thank you so much!

Thirdly... Theresa/Atlanta? Yes... no... yes!

* * *

Dalliance 

The first time it happens, they're giggling over Neil's latest flamboyant choice of button downs. Theresa goes to lean on Atlanta's shoulder for support, but somehow her hand slips and she skims Atlanta's chest, almost inconspicuously. They're both laughing too hard to notice, but the same can't be said for Archie and Herry. The two boys exchange gleeful looks and let their teenage mind wander – namely, into fantasy land, where Theresa and Atlanta are more than friends.

Theresa picks up on their thoughts (it isn't too hard; their filthy minds were practically shouting), and tucks it away for future investigation.

* * *

The second time is hardly an accident, and so they both stop counting after that. Atlanta stays up watching movies with Odie and Herry, and wanders into Theresa's bedroom shortly after four am. She flops down onto the bed next to the barely awake Theresa with a groan. "I am never staying up this late again."

"Mhmm." Theresa mumbles, moving over to accommodate for more space on the small mattress. She rolls over, bringing her closer to Atlanta's side, and burrows her face into the covers.

"I mean it."

"Yeah, right."

Atlanta's silent for a minute, trying to think of something to say, listening to the sound of Theresa's breathing even out as she nods off again. It's kind of ridiculous how quickly she falls back to sleep, and Atlanta watches as she murmurs something unintelligible and the older girl's leg kicks out, bumping against Atlanta's and resting there like it's seeking the heat.

* * *

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" Theresa asks, excitedly aware that the men of the dorm were out doing manly things, namely running laps around the park, and that meant she could watch a girly movie for a change and not listen to Archie's whines and scoffs. "I've got Notting Hill on my laptop. I downloaded it. Illegally," she adds after a moment, wondering if Atlanta will be impressed by her forages into internet piracy.

Atlanta just gives her a look. "_Notting Hill_?"

"Yeah, um, right. No, then," Theresa stutters. "Horrible movie, isn't it?"

"Little bit," Atlanta says like it should be obvious, but shrugs. "But what the heck. You got earphones?"

* * *

"Herry and Jay are shooting hoops." Atlanta calls from the doorway, unsure whether to enter or just stay there. "Archie's about to head down, and wants to know if we're going."

"Not in the mood." Theresa doesn't look up from her magazine, and flicks onto another page, her eyes fixed on the images.

"Okay." Atlanta wanders back, feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

"Atlanta!" Theresa calls after her, and when Atlanta turns back, Theresa's looking as awkward as she's ever seen her; fiddling with the hem of her shirt and looking anywhere but at her. "We could – I mean, I thought we could stay in."

Atlanta nods, her fingers curling into her palms, but what she says is, "I'm going with Archie."

* * *

When she gets back to the dorm, Theresa's sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, stirring a spoon around the mug and staring at nothing in particular.

"You are so British." Atlanta remarks drily as she sits down next to her, leaning into her more than she probably should.

"Half British." Theresa retorts without missing a beat. "The guys with you?"

"They were walking too slow."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Mhmm." Theresa drains her tea in a final sip, placing the mug on the coffee table. She pulls her feet up and tucks them under her, nudging Atlanta with her shoulder as she does so. "Sorry."

"That's okay." Atlanta says, lowering her head to rest against Theresa's shoulder. She can distinctly smell her perfume; something floral, perhaps… lavender? She inhales deeply, conspicuously. Theresa turns her head slightly, so that the two girls are staring right at each other with nothing but their shallow breaths between them.

They're not sure who instigates it, but their lips find each other's and press together nervously, only for a second, before coming back roughly and senselessly. Atlanta runs her hands along Theresa's back, while the older girly artfully messes up Atlanta's hair.

They're so caught up in each other that neither hears the front door open, or the low conversation spilling in from the hallway. When the three boys turn the corner into the living room, they find the two girls firmly in their lip locking and are too dumfounded to move.

After a moment, Jay clears his throat, earning him two very filthy looks from his male companions.

Atlanta looks up, almost guiltily, her lips bright and her cheeks red. Theresa just beams at the three boys. "How was basketball?"

"Not as good as _this_!" Herry exclaims, unable to keep the glee from his voice. Archie nods fervently in agreement, his facial features somewhere between bewilderment and delight. Jay is staring intently at the ceiling, his cheeks burning red.

Silence falls over the living room. Atlanta's on her way to becoming as embarrassed as Jay, but Theresa shrugs. "Whatever. I'm going to my room." She stands, readjusting her shirt down at the back. She strides past the boys, winking. From the stairs, she calls, "You coming, Atlanta?"

Atlanta looks between Theresa, Archie and Herry for a moment, and then scurries over to the stairs. The girls ascend, giggling, which is followed by the slamming of a bedroom door. After a prolonged minute of shock, the boys sink into the sofa. Jay's face is still a lovely shade of red.

"I can't decide," Herry says slowly, "whether this is Christmas, Easter, or my birthday."

Archie sighs and simply says, "All of them."


	96. ColdWarm

A/N: It's been a while since I updated Sleepless Demeanours; sorry about that, gang. I've been quite busy with drafting and publishing Series Three, which is nearly at the conclusion of the first episode. Hopefully you've all been reading and enjoying it the same as this story.

This is set in the early days of the gang's time in New Olympia. Enjoy!

* * *

Cold/Warm

The first time Odie saw it, on his way from his basement to the kitchen, he had to backtrack and take a second look. He had passed by the living room and, out of the corner of his eye, saw someone curled up on the couch. This was far from unusual, so he simply glanced over but kept walking. The realization of what he had seen didn't hit him until he was hunched over, digging through the fridge. He straightened automatically and slunk back to the open doorway to peer out.

There she was. Curled up on the corner of the couch in pink sweatpants with some glittery phrase written up the side of the leg. Her vibrant red hair was pulled up into a tight bun to keep it out of her face, which was covered in some kind of goop that reminded Odie of the innards of a rather unpleasant monster they had faced down the previous month, and a bowl of ice cream in her lap. She licked lazily at the spoon, her gaze fixed on the giant screen in front of her. Odie's eyes drifted to the television, curious about what could have Atlanta so enraptured—surely something involving crossbows and hunting—only to find himself in shock for the second time in just as many minutes.

_"—it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."_

_"You see? That is just like you, Harry. You say things like that, and you make it impossible for me to hate you, and I hate you, Harry. I really—"_

Odie's eyebrows made a bid to join his hairline and a strange choking noise managed to make its way out of his throat. He looked back to Atlanta who was now watching him with open concern.

"You okay, Odie?"

He nodded dumbly.

"Sorry I grabbed the last of the ice cream," she held up the bowl, "I'll make sure to let Athena know to put more on the grocery list.."

Her eyes were awfully shiny—were those tears? —and Odie didn't know what to do. He took a moment to find his voice, though it was awfully strained, before speaking. "Uh, right. You do that," he said and then beat a hasty retreat back to the basement, abandoning the thought of food and leaving the fridge door wide open.

* * *

"It was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. It wasn't natural!"

"Come on, Odie, I'm sure you're just exaggerat—"

"_Tears_, Herry. I saw tears!"

"Who was crying?" A new voice piped in and Archie strolled into the gym, still pulling a shirt on. He eyed the two as he approached them.

"Atlanta," Odie said.

Archie didn't appear fazed as he walked over to the heavy bag and started warming up. "No she wasn't."

"Yes she was!"

"No," Archie drew out the word, "she wasn't.

"I think I know what I saw, Purple."

"I think I know her better than you do, Fuzz Ball."

"There were tears!"

"She wasn't crying."

"She was watching a chick flick and crying, Arch"

"Oh," Archie stopped moving, holding the bag in place, "that."

"What do you mean that?" Odie asked. Herry looked like he was watching a rather surprising tennis match, his head turning back and forth between the two.

"You do know that she's a master at hiding her feelings, yeah?"

"Just say what you mean, Archie." Herry broke out his angry voice, clearly having enough of the back and forth.

"What I mean, Herry, is that she's playing you guys. She does this. She likes to have a little fun, lull people into a false sense of security. She'll find out your soft spots and weaknesses before she slips back into her usual terrifying self. I think it's her version of 'getting to know you.'"

Odie just stared at Archie, gob smacked, before straightening up and stalking out of the gym. Archie and Herry watched him go.

"So, uh… you're serious?" Herry asked.

"Yeah. Trust me. Girls like Atlanta don't do things like emotion. She's deadly through and through. So be careful with your trust, you never know when she's got a weapon on her and she's feeling a bit prickly."

Herry nodded slowly, obviously thinking about what he had just heard. Archie turned back to the bag, grateful for the excuse to hide the smirk that was threatening to overcome his lips.

* * *

Herry woke up earlier than normal the next day, the light outside still gray with the threat of sun looming off in the distance. Struggling to cling onto his dreams, his thoughts quickly went slack when he realised it had been a nightmare.

He sat up in his bed, scrubbing his face with his hands and briefly debated going back to sleep. It was pointless, he knew. He'd be tossing and turning until he just gave up. Instead, he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and pulled on his sweatpants, planning to head to the roof where he could recoup and straighten out his thoughts with just the company of the sunrise.

Herry didn't expect anyone to be awake this early, much less already on the roof when he got there. So he was surprised when, as soon as he swung open the door, he was greeted by the sight of Atlanta sitting in one of the lounge chairs that had made its way up there from one of the lower decks. She turned at the sound of the door opening and grinned when she saw Herry. He didn't know what to make of that smile. It looked genuine but after what Archie had said…

"Hey, Herry. Pull up a chair." She patted the one next to her. He managed to jerk out a little nod, walked over to her and sat down.

Being this close to her made him slightly uncomfortable. Not because she was a female, Herry was used to bullheaded people, female and male alike, but because he still wasn't sure what to make of her. She was absolutely terrifying in fights, jumping from giant to giant, taking them down with skill and grace that left Herry breathless. She was ruthless, she was dangerous, and she was absolutely deadly.

But she was sitting on the rooftop in a white hooded sweatshirt, red pajama pants with patterned hearts on them, and fuzzy white slippers. The sight, contrasting so much with her usual take-no-prisoners attitude, would have made him laugh had he not been afraid of what Atlanta could do to him, super strength or not.

So there he sat, stiff and uncomfortable and feeling the urge to just get out of there already, when all he wanted to do was calm down and get his head on straight before facing the day.

As if she read all of this on his face, she spoke up. "Something wrong?" She asked in a concerned voice.

Herry's eyes darted to her and then back out to the sun breaking over the horizon. He lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug to shake off her question but he could feel the weight of her gaze still on him.

They sat for a few minutes in silence. Herry felt himself relaxing slightly, letting himself lean into the back of the chair. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, trying to get rid of the feeling of the cold, clammy fingers digging into his skin.

"You're not the only one with nightmares, you know." She said quietly. He heard her shift and then felt her small hand rest on his shoulder. His heart gave a lurch and he shot up out of the chair, nearly toppling it over in his haste. He didn't know if it was the fact that Atlanta made him feel uneasy or because he could still feel those cold fingers on him that made him react that way. It was probably a mixture of both.

"I—I'm sorry. I need to—" he didn't bother finishing his sentence as he stumbled back to the door, nearly running down the stairs. In his desperation to get out of there as quickly as possible, he completely missed the flash of hurt that passed across Atlanta's face.

* * *

"I told you, she's terrifying." Odie mumbled, his teeth clenched on a piece of wire as he worked on what could have been a car engine in a past life.

"I don't know," Herry trailed off for a moment, "she really seemed like she cared." He still felt guilty about running away that morning, even if it was from a stone-cold huntress.

"Did I tell you she once tried to steal my kidney?" Neil interjected, preening in his mirror.

"What? No she didn't." Herry looked at the blonde doubtfully.

"Okay, so she didn't, but she did punch me once. In training. Without consent."

Herry narrowed his eyes at Neil but the Odie began to speak. "All I'm saying is Archie knows her, we should listen to him. She doesn't do emotion remember? She's just as likely to kill you as she is to hug you. Well, no. She's more likely to kill you than she is to hug you."

"What?" A new voice rang out. Herry, Neil and Odie looked up to see Theresa walking in, a stack of folders in her hands, the confusion evident on her face. "Who are you talking about?"

"No one," Herry said.

"Atanta," Neil said at the same time. Odie gave him a dirty look.

Theresa lifted an eyebrow at them. "And who told you that she's more likely to kill you than hug you?"

"No one," Herry said.

"Archie," Neil said at the same time. Herry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Odie glared daggers at him.

"Okay. Well first off," Theresa put a hand on her hip, "look at who you're getting your information from. We're talking about the same guy who last week told Athena that it's a modern customary act to slap someone's ass to show appreciation. We're just lucky she only managed to do it to Neil before we put a stop to that."

Odie let out a squeak that he would deny to his dying day and Neil looked over, his lips curving into an evil little grin, clearly about to make a comment but Theresa stopped him, raising her voice.

"Secondly," she glared at them, "Atlanta is a human being. She is not a robot." She shook her head in disbelief. "Zeus, Odie. Even if she was, you treat robots better than her!

"Hey!" Odie eyed her. "How do you know how I do or do not treat Atlanta?"

Theresa scoffed. "This place is a veritable sausage fest. Us girls need to stick together. We talk, we go out, we're friends. Plus I can totally read your thoughts."

"But Archie—" Odie started.

"Screw Archie. Archie is a jerk whose idiocy is only surpassed by you two actually believing the things coming out of his mouth! Trust me, I'm going to be having words with Archie," she said his name like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "as soon as I'm done here. Don't worry if your little buddy is suspiciously absent for the next couple of days." She shoved a folder at Odie. "Now please have a gift from Jay. Olympus High blueprints. Knock yourself out."

After Odie filed the documents away, side-eyeing Theresa the entire time, he, Neil and Herry watched as she walked out the door. Herry, who had been conspicuously quiet during that whole ordeal, spoke up. "You know, she's almost scarier than Atlanta."

Odie watched her stalk up the stairs, clearly on the warpath. "You are not wrong."

Neil cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, clearly abashed. "I suppose we should do something. You know, to apologize?"

Odie sighed. "I suppose you're right."

* * *

Archie didn't disappear as Theresa had forewarned. He showed up right on time that night. Though Herry noted a slight limp in his gait and his eyes darted quickly, almost in fear, between all the faces currently sitting at the table, pausing for a moment on Atlanta's. She just grinned in response and Herry chuckled to himself. Atlanta may not be quite as terrifying as he previously thought, but he still knew better than to get on her bad side.

Once Archie had seated himself, Jay stood up and cleared his throat. "So, uh, I invited everyone here tonight because—well, we've been living together for a month now and I think it's about time that we actually got to know each other. Properly."

Atlanta smiled at him and he saw the appreciation in her expression.

"So, I just wanted to instigate a weekly team meeting. Just something low key, you know. Grabbing something to eat or watching a movie, anything where we can all hang out and relax together. I want us to be friends, not just teammates." Jay could hear Neil rolling his eyes, but he knew better. Neil was actually the one to come up with the original idea, though his suggestions on what to do during their meetings were slightly off-color.

"Aye aye, captain." Neil drawled, mocking a salute, but they all knew he'd show up; any chance to have attention on himself, he'd take.

Jay looked around the table at each of his teammates, all of them either nodding or smiling with ascent, though Archie's smile may have been a bit strained. "Great," Jay beamed. "Now let's eat."

He sat down, the sounds of silverware on plates, the light banter between his teammates, and the occasional chuckle washing over him. He watched as Neil picked all the green things off a slice of pizza, as Herry mixed different foods into a veritable mountain before digging in with gusto, as Odie explained to Athena what Facebook was, as Archie and Atlanta stole each others bread knives, and then his eyes met Theresa's across the table, hers twinkling with laughter. She gave him a nod and tilted her glass in his direction, her eyes flickering towered Atlanta. Jay smiled back and let himself get lost in the growing feeling of camaraderie, the feeling of belonging, the feeling that he didn't think he'd ever think he'd have.


	97. Nightmare

A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm not going to apologise; let me explain some things. Firstly, I've been away due to real life stuff (got into archaeology in Australia's most prestigious university, go me!) so I haven't had much time for writing. Secondly, Sleepless Demeanours is nearly finished, so I'm trying to write only the best for the final few chapters. And thirdly... well, this is where it gets complicated.

I've mentioned before for Series Three that I may be splitting up canon couples, and apparently this is too much for some people to bare. I've received hatemail on both here and my Tumblr. True, proper hatemail about this. I'm incredibly sad, disgusted and appalled. I mean, is shipping really that important to you guys? Who cares that much about if Archie and Atlanta kiss, or what Jay and Theresa get up to? Can't I just write this story how I want to? We're a small community here, so I'd really appreciate if you withheld childish criticisms like that, and instead directed your criticisms on my writing style/spelling/etc.

Anyway, Series Three won't be updated for a while. Here's a 300 word drabble.

* * *

Nightmare 

He heard her cry out. Nothing continuous, nothing hysterical, just one pained cry. Dropping the book he'd been reading, he stepped quickly into the hall. Jay slipped into Theresa's room and the light from the corridor followed him all the way to her bed. It lit up her face which was etched with pain, and revealed the sheets balled tightly in her fists.

He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her. No surprises.

"Theresa. Wake up."

She heard him. Her eyes opened, but she didn't move.

Jay leaned over her. Their eyes connected.

"I'm here." He said to her.

This is how she woke from a nightmare that truly terrified her. Perfectly still, wide eyed and waiting. Was it really over? If she lay still enough, perhaps it wouldn't find her again.

"Theresa." He repeated, just to reiterate what was real.

Wherever she'd been a moment before was now gone away. The softness and love of the mother she once knew before she withered away faded back into memory as his low voice filled her ears. The crushing grasp of the power within her slipped away as his calloused fingers gently wrapped around her palm. She looked into his warm brown eyes that tore apart the image of indigo phantom, and icy fear. His quiet presence overshadowed the horror of hatred, that hadn't belonged to him, pulling, stabbing her.

She said nothing to him and he spoke no more. Nothing more was required. Jay pulled her from her terror. He'd done it before. He would do it every time he was able. She knew that.

Theresa closed her eyes. His hand remained clutched in hers as she held it against her heart. Her thumb rubbed softly back and forth across Jay's.

He was there.


	98. Cuddles

A/N: Hello, darlings! It's been another length wait between updates, I know, but I'm finished uni for the semester, so hopefully I'll get back into writing during my winter break (and hopefully I'll update Series Three while I'm in an inspired mood. _Hopefully_.)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and to those who read/reviewed Flutterings, which was published a few weeks ago. You guys are so important to me; thank you.

Here's a lengthy, fluffy fic to say thank you and apologise for the wait. Hope you like it!

* * *

Cuddles

Theresa sighed and shifted in her sleep. After a long day of kicking Cronus's ass and saving the world, there was nothing quite like a warm bed, soft blankets, and a firm arm around her waist.

Except for one tiny problem – she had gone to bed alone.

Her brain snapped awake, and it was only her extensive training that kept her eyes shut, body still, and her breathing even. Who was that in her bed with her?

The arm was too thin to be Jay. Too long to be Atlanta. And she highly doubted Herry, Neil or Odie would sneak into her room for snuggles (or even be able to without waking her). She cracked an eye open and took a good look at the hand. Pale, and lithe. And the arm it was attached to was equally as wiry (and Zeus, how had her own hand ended up covering that cool, foreign one?).

Okay. So, apparently, she was being spooned by none other than the warrior himself; Archie.

Her free arm was stretched out under the pillow. She twitched her fingers slightly, and then curled them slowly into a fist. And –

Archie shifted.

Theresa froze.

She was in the arms of the freaking warrior who irritated the face off her, insisted on nicknaming her the "drama queen" and frequently make an idiot of himself around her best friend. Not necessarily in that order of annoyance. Very not good.

The arm around her waist tightened slightly, and Theresa mentally planned out her attack, painfully aware that punches weren't much good against his reflexes and impossibly purple hair and whatever else the warrior had up his sleeves. Could she get to the nun-chucks in her wardrobe without waking him? She could certainly try.

Archie grunted, and – oh sweet Zeus, did he just _nuzzle her neck_?!

Okay. So. Spooning with a cuddly, asleep, mood-swinging descendant of Achilles. Who apparently had a really cold nose. Not how she pictured her night going.

A mood-swinging warrior who was snoring slightly. And putting the whole irritating-nicknaming-hitting-on-Atlanta thing aside temporarily, it was a damn cute sound. Kind of like something one heard on Youtube video of a sleeping baby alpaca or something.

Not that she looked up sleeping baby alpacas.

But still. She was a descendant of Theseus. She had principles. And those principles included not being spooned by teammates. (Well, teammates that weren't Jay. Or Atlanta, even.)

And he had started snoring a bit louder. It was less like a baby alpaca now, and more like a St. Bernard. Theresa didn't tolerate snoring from any of her bed mates, warrior or not.

Bracing herself for what might happen, she lifted the hand that had been resting on his, and (_lightly-carefully-oh-god-don't-piss-him-off_) elbowed him in the ribs, like she might to Jay if he started sleep-mumbling in her ear.

She held her breath.

Archie shifted, mumbled _sorry_ into her hair, and fell back asleep, snoring less like a St. Bernard but still not quite the baby alpaca snore.

Okay. So, maybe he wasn't going to murder her in his sleep (was that even a thing? Like, what was the opposite of getting murdered in one's sleep? Sleep-walking only with more murdering?).

She shifted a little, wiggling her legs out from under his. Man, Archie really went all-out with his cuddling (and was he wearing silk pyjamas or something? At least he wasn't naked). Just as softly as the elbow to his ribs, she kicked his shin with her heel, and held her breath again.

His leg twitched, he pulled her a little closer, and the snoring stopped.

Theresa supposed she should have been more worried. More freaked out. Or even more annoyed that someone had somehow snuck into her room and started cuddling her without her noticing (but seriously. What did that say about her skills if he could do that? Or his, for that matter?).

But it was late, and that whole thing with the saving the world earlier had really taken it out of her. Her senses would warn her if there was a threat, right? And, Archie wasn't that bad at cuddling. He wasn't hogging all the blankets, he was spooning without awkward knee-poking or being wrapped unpleasantly around her and, best part, he wasn't trying to fight her.

The baby alpaca snore started up again. That was the last straw.

Theresa let herself drift into a light sleep. He wasn't overtly trying to kill her or do something weird. And if he was asleep in her bed, he wasn't trying to verbal spar or do something weird with anyone else (namely, Atlanta). She could deal with it in the morning. Her fist never uncurled, though.

She needn't have bothered. Her bed was empty when she woke up the next morning.

She didn't mention it to any of the others.

And it was all kind of moot point when he stopped being irritating and called her by her name, and confessed that he actually cared for Atlanta on an emotional level (which, to Theresa, sounded a bit like a thin excuse to get with the huntress, but hey, Atlanta could kick his ass into next week if she thought he only wanted to make out). So she didn't bring it up.

* * *

Upon waking to find one very asleep, very innocent-looking, and very clingy warrior in his bed, Jay turned a shade of red that made him resemble Atlanta's hair.

He extracted himself from Archie's grip with some difficulty (and how the heck had he gotten that kind of death grip on Jay's arm? Yes he was surprisingly strong, but seriously, he shouldn't have been that strong in his sleep!), heaved Archie over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, and unceremoniously dumped him on the couch.

The next day, Jay came into the kitchen and found Archie chugging on some of Theresa's fancy coffee drink that he couldn't remember, pronounce or hope to make on Odie's crazy coffee machine. None of the others were up yet, so he seized the opportunity to state his question bluntly.

"Why were you in my bed last night?"

Archie did not verbally respond, though he may or may not have choked slightly on his marbled half-soy hazelnut mocha-frappa-latte-chino thing. He swept out of the room, carefully avoiding looking anywhere in Jay's direction.

Jay shrugged, poured himself a cup of coffee from the simple drip-brew machine on the counter, and resolved himself to living with insane teammates.

* * *

Herry wasn't sure what woke him up. Perhaps it was something creaking in the dorm? The heating? Or did he just twitch in his sleep and wake himself up?

But no, it wasn't that. Because a soft breath on his check sent a shiver down his back. Herry's eyes fluttered open, only to see the ceiling. He tilted his head groggily, eyes wearily searching for his unknown companion.

A pale face, eerily colourless in the blue nightlight plugged into the far wall. A pale, narrow face, framed in purple hair, and what-the-

Archie.

Herry was suddenly much more awake. His heart started pounding in his chest (because OHCRAPWHATAREYOUDOINGARCHIE). He closed his eyes again, blocking out the image of the peacefully sleeping warrior next to him.

Archie. In his bed. Curled up next to him. Fast asleep. What the heck?

(Secretly, he wished that it had been Odie. Those wild curls really did something to him. Archie's purple mohawk wasn't really his kinda thing.)

Herry didn't really have problem with Archie being in his bed, anyway. Maybe Archie just got too cold in his room or something. The guy always had cold hands, and he wouldn't have put it past Odie to mess with the AC in his section of the dorm. And anyway, Herry's bed was huge; a specially made monstrosity that was way more than king sized and steel-reinforced just in case of times that he forgot his own strength. IKEA stuff just couldn't hold up to a descendant of Heracles, apparently. There was plenty of room for two people.

So, he slipped out of bed, tiptoed around the foot of the bed, and after far too much walking to go around a mattress, got under the covers on the other side. There was probably enough room between Archie and him for someone to stretch out lengthwise. Herry smiled. That would do. The guy could have a good night's sleep on the other side of a warm bed. He wasn't being a bother.

Of course, when he woke up again a few hours late with Archie's back pressed up against his and a soft, almost squeaky snore reaching his ears, Herry wasn't so inclined to be generous with his bed's real estate.

A flash of lightning lit the room, and Herry became aware that rain had been pounding on the windows the whole time, the white noise fading into the background. Moments later, a thunderclap boomed, a little too close for comfort.

Archie flinched, and shuddered briefly before stilling again.

Of course.

The thunderstorm had probably been raging all night. And Archie, though he would never admit it out loud, probably didn't like thunder all that much. Probably because of the rain or whatever (what was the word Odie had used? Archie was… hydrophobic? Yes. Hydrophobic!). He smiled proudly at the remembrance.

Herry knew what it was like to seek comfort when he was scared, whether it was of the dark, the monsters in the closet, or the storm raging outside. He also knew what it was like when you couldn't, because mummy and daddy weren't around, and your Granny wasn't all that cuddly.

So, he let Archie sleep.

And if he shifted a little bit closer to the warrior when the thunder boomed, well, who was to say that he didn't need a little comfort too?

In the morning, Herry handed Archie a plate of fresh pancakes when he stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep. Archie took them with a nod and a grunt, before heading for the ridiculously complicated coffee machine.

It would have set the scene for a perfect, heart-warming bonding moment, if Odie hadn't chosen that day, and that moment, to reveal his pancake-making robot.

It worked about as well as it sounded, except it didn't.

They all agreed to never speak of the Pancake Incident again.

At some point, Herry brought the issue up with Atlanta, saying that he had found Archie fast asleep in his room one night, but glossed over the details of the storm.

Atlanta sighed and explained that (from what she could gather from the warrior when he wasn't being completely hostile) Archie had many issues with sleepwalking as a child, mostly in times of stress. Exams, bullying, unwanted dunks into water, and yes, storms. They all made Archie wander unconsciously at night, waking up in the oddest of places. Cold fireplaces. On top of the roof, once or twice. And most commonly, other people's bedrooms.

Herry thanked Atlanta for the explanation, and discretely passed it on to his fellow teammates, just in case they ended up with an involuntary bed mate.

* * *

Neil wasn't even sure how Archie had made it up there. He was sorely tempted to plant his foot in the dozing warrior's back and give it a firm push, right off his bed, just to see if he bounced off his new shagpile rug. After all, the whole invading-teammates'-bedrooms-at-night still didn't sit well with him, despite the uneasy truce. Some of the others even seemed to be forming a somewhat bemused enjoyment of the nightly cuddling. But come on people! The guy had serious anger issues and didn't bleach his hair before dying it!

Still, he kind of had to give the guy props for making it up two flights of stairs, around a maze of strewn scarves and settle himself into the bed without waking himself or alerting Neil to his presence.

So, Neil flipped his sleeping mask back down and rolled over to drift into an uneasy sleep, with Archie on the other side of his bed (but not before snapping a few pictures of him in the foetal position that would make for fantastic Photoshop fodder at a later date).

* * *

"Get the hell out of my room. I don't care if you've used up all your energy fighting Cronus. You get your mortal behind off my couch. NOW!"

Archie had no time to say anything in his defence before the door to Athena's room slammed in his face.

* * *

Odie was tired. After a long day of being awesome and saving the world (well, hiding behind his computer and directing the others through a maze) all he wanted to do was pass out on his bed and not emerge from his slumber for an uncertain length of time. Possibly several days.

So, it was with great pleasure that he collapsed face-first into bed that night and promptly fell asleep. After a long day of staring at blue screens of doom, there was nothing nicer than a hot chocolate before bed, a soft mattress, cool sheets, a warm down duvet, and someone holding him close.

Wait, what the hell?

Odie's eyes flew open to confirm that, yes, there was an arm wrapped around his middle, and _who the hell is even in bed with me and I swear to Zeus Neil if this is payback for what happened with the pancake batter I am gonna…_

… apparently have a complete meltdown because who knew a cute little snore like that could be so disarming?

He nudged the arm a little lower, and the cool palm rested just above his navel rather than his chest. Okay. Freakout issue number one solved.

So, who was the arm attached to?

Pale hand. Wiry arm. Track pants as PJ's. Yep, it was Archie. And Odie had through that Herry was kidding about Archie's sleepwalking.

And apparently another thing that was happening was Odie carefully rolling over to wrap his arms around Archie and falling back asleep. He could give any number of reasons for it. Mainly, he trusted Archie, as a teammate and a friend (and it still felt quaint that he, the nerdiest kid in school, had such friends). But mostly, those track pants really did something for him.

* * *

A few weeks later, the team was flying back home after dealing with sirens in Santorini. And not even the fun kind of sirens. They were just the regular come-hither-so-I-can-eat-your-brains sirens. Herry had been especially disappointed.

Everyone was completely exhausted. Neil was using Theresa as a pillow, and the fighter didn't seem to mind because she was equally as zonked out, Jay was dozing near the front of the jet, Atlanta was taking piloting lessons from Odie, and somehow in the middle of it all, Archie ended up in the seat next to Herry.

Herry was in the window seat, looking out at the ground crawling beneath them, and wondered how much longer it would be until they landed. He didn't like flying; it was one of those things that he'd just prefer to avoid. Herry was thinking about his truck and how much he missed that, quite frankly _beautiful_, machine when he felt a weight lean on him. He glanced over to see Archie, fast asleep, slumped sideways in his seat and snoring on his shoulder.

Just as Herry was resolving himself to put up with the warrior, the plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and Archie jolted awake. He sat up straight and looked sideways at Herry, freezing in place, not even breathing.

"I don't like flying." Archie mumbled. Herry managed a weak smile and relaxed his grip on the armrest.

Within minutes, Archie had calmed and fallen back asleep, and once again, his head dropped onto Herry's shoulder. Within a few minutes, the warrior's breathing faded into light snoring, and he pulled himself a little closer to Herry. And, eventually, Herry completely let go of the armrest and rested his head on top of Archie's.

"I don't like flying, either," the brawn said quietly, so that no one else but his sleeping teammate could hear.

* * *

When Archie showed up while Jay and Theresa were cuddling one night (surprisingly, he managed to pick a night when they were _just_ cuddling) and climbed into bed with them, Theresa nearly woke him up with her squeak of alarm.

Jay, half asleep, mumbled a few words but was too groggy to push the warrior out of the bed. Theresa, a little more awake, went to shove him out, but quickly melted once what she later dubbed the _cutest snore in the world_ started up.

The bed wasn't quite as big as Herry's, but it was plenty big for three people to drift into a blissful, cuddly sleep.

* * *

The one person Archie never sleepwalked to was Atlanta.

Neil suggested it might be because Atlanta was a feisty, trigger-happy pint of a girl who stashed crossbows and guns in her room. Maybe Archie just didn't like the idea of being turned into a pin cushion? After all, Atlanta did threaten to shoot/punch/beat up each of the boys several times a week.

But Atlanta was not an idiot. She knew that crossbows were not the reason the warrior sought comfort with every other member of the household except for her.

Maybe it was because she wasn't one for cuddling and affectionate crap.

Or maybe it was because they both knew that if he cuddled with her, even just the once, he would never let her go.


	99. Tension

A/N: Chapter 99, can you believe it? I certainly can't. I don't want to, because that means there's only one more chapter to go before Sleepless Demeanours is over. And I don't ever want it to end.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter; I'm glad that a sleepwalking Archie is just as cute to you guys as it is to me. Hopefully you'll like this chapter too.

* * *

Tension

(or The One Where Jay Is A Cocky Little Shit)

* * *

Neither of them quite know how to act around one another after the kiss.

The tense air has become tenser with the awkwardness of the secrets they're keeping hidden between them. It's difficult to be in the same room with one another, let alone the same house, and she's pretty sure Atlanta, at the very least, has noticed the way they'll stutter when speaking to each other, how one of them is always staring at the other. She doesn't blame her, though. They're obvious.

But it still takes her by surprise when Atlanta blurts out her thoughts one afternoon.

"So are you and Jay sleeping together or something?"

She thought that people only spat water out in the movies— but obviously not since immediately after the question is asked, Theresa chokes on her drink. Her eyes grow wide as she looks at the redhead.

"Oh, come _on_, Theresa. We were all there on the beach."

Pale cheeks flush a shade of deep red, and she glances around the cafeteria. Someone must've heard that, and she's thankful for the fact that none of the team,especially Jay, were anywhere to be seen. Her eyes flicker back to Atlanta's, and she shakes her head, releasing a long breath of air.

"We're…" Theresa's voice trails off as she tries to think of a word that properly describes the relationship she has with Jay. After a moment, she comes up empty, shrugging. "He saved my life. More than once. We're friends." The word seems foreign on her tongue, not the proper term. After all they've been through, he's more to her than that. Even if she doesn't know how to explain it.

The other raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Mhmm," she drawls, shaking her head.

She leaves it at that, but Theresa knows the conversation is far from over.

She doesn't know that on the basketball court, Jay, Archie and Herry are having nearly the same conversation. Herry offered him _supplies_, and Jay wants to crawl out of his skin, and if Archie doesn't shut up soon, he may have to rip his throat out.

* * *

After they escape from their opposing juries, Jay grabs onto Theresa's arm and pulls her into the janitor's closet. She almost lets out a shriek, but catches herself at the last minute.

She doesn't get a word out before his lips are being pressed against hers. The redhead is only hesitant for a fraction of a second before she brings her hand up to cup the back of his neck, holding him close to her as she molds her lips against his.

Their first kiss (well, the first one she had been _conscious_ for) had been slow and careful as they took their time to discover one another, but this is different. They're kissing like they had done so a hundred times before, already oddly used to each other's rhythms. There's no awkward stumbling of their lips; they move in unison, and Theresa can't help but think of how right it feels.

She makes a protesting noise in the back of her throat when he breaks the kiss. He doesn't move far, resting his forehead against hers and keeping his hands on her waist. She has to wait to collect her words for a moment before she speaks. "What was _that_?"

"I needed to be sure of something."

A pause, and she meets his eyes with hesitance. "—_And_?"

He shrugs, pulling back completely and taking a step away from her. It causes Theresa's heart to clench in her chest when he shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "I'm sure."

She waits a few long beats before throwing her arms up. "Are you gonna tell me what you're sure of or do I not get to know? Because I swear to Zeus, Jay, if this was just some sort of weird experiment to see if you could make me feel something for you—"

Catching her face in his hands, he cuts off her words by bringing his lips to hers again. She doesn't let it go on this time, though, instead shoving at his chest and taking her lips back. Looking up at him through a narrowed gaze, she smacks him on the arm when he laughs— he actually _laughs_. Loudly, at that.

"What is so funny?"

Reaching around her, Jay turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. "After you," he says, gesturing for her to go.

She puts on a show of planting her feet firmly on the floor and crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly.

He raises an eyebrow at something over her shoulder, and she turns to see Atlanta standing there with her hands on her hips, with Herry right beside her, grinning ear to ear. Glancing back at Jay, she shoots him a look if saying _this isn't over_ before spinning on her heels and following shamefully behind her best friend. Before she's out of earshot, she can hear Herry snicker.

* * *

More days pass with no explanation, and it's safe to assume that Theresa's about ready to kill him. The tense air that separated them before has been replaced by anger from the redhead and every time she looks at him, her eyes are daggers. Their teammates watch them carefully, wondering who will make the first move (what Theresa and Jay didn't know was that their teammates were engaged in _serious business_, namely betting on the outcome of their stalemate. The good money was on their silence not lasting the week.)

By the fourth day, she's had enough. She waits outside the boy's locker room after training, and waits until she's sure everyone except Jay is out, and that's when she barges in. Save for the towel that hangs low on his hips, he's completely naked, and Theresa has to force herself to look at his face and not let her eyes wander.

Raising an eyebrow at her, he rakes a hand through his hair, but the damp locks quickly stuck themselves back onto his forehead. "Something you needed? Or do you always randomly come into the boy's locker room?"

"You know why I'm here." she says, placing her hands on her hips.

His lips purse in thought for a moment as he watches her. "You wanted to catch a glimpse of me naked?"

She takes a step closer to him, her hands rising to hit his chest (because, by _Zeus_, the he could be cocky sometimes) but he catches her wrist, and before she can blink they've switched positions and it's her back that's to the lockers. He pushes her a little roughly against them and before she can even blink, his lips steal hers in a kiss that draws all the breath from her body.

Their first kiss was slow and careful. Their second kiss was safe and curious. But this kiss is completely different. It's as if they're trying to devour one another with the way their lips move against each other's. It's heated and passionate and dangerous; Theresa's knees are shaking from the severity of it. But it's also more than that.

It's like they _need_ each other, like they're kissing for their survival.

* * *

When they walk out of the locker room much later, with Jay's hair thoroughly messed up and Theresa's cheeks perfectly flushed, their teammates say nothing.

Neil's a little bit upset when he passes over his money to Odie, but stays quiet.

Jay only smirks at them. "See you guys back at the dorm," he says, and entwines his fingers with Theresa's.


	100. Sleepless Demeanours

A/N: Here we are. Chapter 100, a five hundred word drabble, appropriately named_ Sleepless Demeanours_. That means that this is the final chapter of Sleepless Demeanours. And while I'm going to try to avoid taking up too much space for this note, I do need to give some credit where it is due.

So, to everyone who reviewed. You know who you are. You all hold a special place in this story. It wouldn't have progressed beyond the first lot of chapters if it weren't for your continued support. Thank you. Thank you a lot. You are all infinitely incredible and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Also, to the readers. You're not reviewers, and that's fine. Thank you for taking the time to read my work.

Hopefully you have all enjoyed Sleepless Demeanours. Thank you for being a part of the journey. Yes, I'm getting emotional. This is without doubt one of my happiest, proudest, exhilarated moments of writing. Thank you.

* * *

Sleepless Demeanours

_It's all in the way they end their days._

* * *

Starting them is the easier part. Sometimes, the previous day hasn't ended, and the days blur into each other through a haze of insomnia. But they drag themselves from their rooms, some more rested than others. Athena will watch them as they down their breakfast, the goddess absentmindedly patting Herry's shoulder as he wolfs down pancake after pancake.

Attending school is manageable. It keeps them sane; the mundane activities of normal life. Homework is handed in, when they've gotten the time to do it. Teachers will glower at the group, but gush about Odie's supposed wasted potential. The others will sit in the back row, their smirks saying _if only you knew._ When the brainy teen rejoins them, they'll pretend to listen to the class discussions, absentmindedly scribbling notes, or writing poems in Archie's case. Sometimes, he'll catch Atlanta wistfully gazing over his shoulder at the words, and smile.

The hours blend like days. They assemble at the janitor's closet at the final bell, golden medallions in hand. After school, their classes truly begin. Sometimes they work together on Ares' impossible tasks. Sometimes they work individually, instructed by their mentors. Classes with the gods follow no strict times; they finish when they're told. Neil is always the first to go. Sometimes the others too are allowed to leave early, and they drive home together. Other times, they walk home alone.

Evenings at the dorm fluctuate. Sometimes, it's a quiet night, and they barely talk. Sometimes they sit in the lounge room, arguing over film choices. They'll all compromise, in the end, and settle into a movie until the early hours of the morning, too tired to stay, too comfortable to move away from the tangle of resting bodies.

The calm is sometimes punctuated before it can settle. Theresa will lapse into a vision, and they'll head off into the night, tensely guarded, mentally preparing themselves for the battle ahead. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they don't. Their psychic can never predict that outcome. But they fight, anyway. It's a necessity that they must fight on. It's their destiny.

Cronus, too, fights on. Sometimes in a deadly calm, or sometimes in a rage. They're experienced in both, but sometimes it can go wrong. They'll miscalculate a punch, or overstep a kick. Sometimes, more often than not, it's Jay. Trying to be everywhere at once, the single-minded leader will end up sprawled on the ground, dazed and overpowered. But he stands up, every time, and continues the fight until it's over.

Sometimes they crawl back to the dorm, beaten and defeated, tending to their injuries in solitude. Sometimes they arrive back high on life, giggling over the close-calls and adrenaline of battle, laughing because they're too scared to admit to their own frailty. Sometimes they only just survive. They count themselves lucky, and swear never to make the same mistakes as they retreat into their sleepless demeanours.

But sometimes they stand on the rooftop of the dorm, arms stretched out, begging for more.


End file.
